


Just Pretending That We're Cool

by StormDancer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Cute Kids, Friends to Lovers, M/M, OT5 Friendship, Summer Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 65,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5047870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camp Tiaxa Falls is many things to Harry--the lake, the woods, his campers, the four boys he's been friends with for a decade. But after a difficult first year of college, it's suddenly a refuge too. Except of course Zayn had to be out there, making things difficult by looking all gorgeous and kissable all the time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was almost entirely inspired by the Live While We're Young video, so all credit goes to that. Many thanks to my beta for listening to me go through like three drafts of this thing and then moan when it got long. 
> 
> Posting schedule: this fic will be four chapter, posted every four days. So the next chapter will go up on Sunday. It is complete--that shouldn't be late. 
> 
> Don't know, don't own, all that!

_" I burned so long so quiet you must have wondered_

_if I loved you back. I did, I did, I do."_

\--Annelyse Gelman

 

 

 

The first breath is always the best. It’s always the same, from the very first year Harry pulled up to Camp Tiaxa Falls ten years ago, not knowing what it would be. The fresh feel of the air, like there’s no pollution in it for miles—which is probably true, given the nearest town is miles away. The scent of pine needles, of a hint of burning things, of seaweed from the lake. It’s always been what summer tastes like to Harry, and so he takes a second, standing at the big wood gates, to close his eyes and just to breathe it in, to let the last year wash away. It’s finally warm, it’s summer, and he knows this place, inside and out. He should probably go check in with Paul, dump his stuff in his bunk, start getting the cabin ready for the campers coming tomorrow—but for right now, he just breathes. He’s back. He’s home.

“Harry!” He doesn’t have a chance to open his eyes before he’s almost bowled over by someone hitting his side in a hard hug, his arms wrapped around Harry’s shoulder. Harry doesn’t have to open his eyes to know who it is—the laughter in his ear is giving it away, loud and raucous.

Harry opens his eyes, twists so he can hug Niall back without his duffel getting in the way. This is familiar too, to grin his greeting into Niall, then to let him go as he bounces away, always keyed up for things to start. “You’re late,” Niall informs him, slinging an arm over his shoulder. He’s still the same Niall as he has been every summer, as he was over Christmas, his hair the bright blonde that means he just redyed it, his smile wide and a little crooked. “Even Zayn beat you here.”

“My plane was delayed!” Harry protests, letting Niall lead him along. The opposite way from the administrative cabin, towards the campers’ cabins, but Harry doesn’t protest. It feels so good to be back here, to wander the dirt paths, walk past the log cabins where the older kids would be staying, past the open green open spaces in the trees that act as fields, the flagpole. To see the lake in the distance, bright blue in the sun. “Not my fault!”

“What’s not your fault?” Suddenly, there’s another arm around Harry’s shoulder, and Harry’s pulled into another set of broad shoulders. He wriggles out of Niall’s hold to hug Liam properly, because Liam’s hugs are always the most excellent really, firm and comforting and a bit engulfing, with a nice hard chest to press against.

“That he’s late,” Niall explains, bouncing up and down. “Slacker just got here.”

“You’re not late,” Liam assures Harry. He keeps a hand on Harry’s shoulder as they separate, and Harry’s missed that, that sort of physical contact. It’s a shock to his system in the best way. “All the orientation stuff doesn’t start until this evening.”

“And we know everything anyway,” Harry points out. Liam’s face scrunches like he’d want to argue, but he lets it go. They do know everything after all, all the ins and outs of this place after ten years or so of running wild, then another year as counselor. “Bet I could recite the rules in my sleep.”

“I’ll make you do that,” Niall promises. “But you beating Zayn means he pouts til you get here, so you’re late for that.”

“Niall…” Liam gives Harry a sidelong glance, but Harry just grins.

“I’ll make him smile,” he assures Niall. He can always make people smile, here at least. And he can always make Zayn smile, even when he’s in one of his moods and not even Liam can draw him out. It’s good to remember that, that here at least he has skills no one else does.

“Good. He’s no fun when he’s in a mood.”

Liam opens his mouth like he’s going to retort, but then they’re at the 5-7 cabins and Niall bounds up the steps first, Liam and Harry after him. “He’s here!” he announces, and Harry has a moment to wonder who’s in his cabin before he gets in and sees the two boys on the single bed that will be his, turning grinning faces towards him.

“Styles!” Louis cries, shoving Zayn’s legs off his bare knees so he can get up. “What the fuck are you doing wearing a blazer?” He hugs Harry hard and fast, then lets him go to look at him, like he’s assessing Harry’s progress. “We’re in the fucking wilderness.”

“Excuse me for wanting to look good,” Harry retorts. If there’s one thing he learned in the last year, it’s that you can take comfort in looking good even when everything else sucks. He’ll go back to t-shirts soon enough, here. “And it’s nice to see you too.”

“I know, isn’t it?” Louis retorts, brushing at his quiff, and Harry sticks out his tongue and laughs before he turns to the bed.

Zayn’s still lying back there, leaning on both his elbows as he looks at the four of them. He’s—the rest of them look the same, even with Liam’s hair cut off, but he—Harry’d heard about the blonde streak, seen pictures of it; like he’s heard about the bright splash of color on his arm. But pictures have never done Zayn justice, not when he’s beaming up at Harry, that slightly crooked smile that sparkles in his eyes, when his posture is stretching him out lean and long, and Harry’s suddenly finding it a little hard to swallow. Maybe it’s just that he’s been in the middle of nowhere for a year, and his hometown wasn’t much better, but even there no one was as attractive as Zayn.

“Hey, babe,” Zayn grins. Harry doesn’t know what Niall was talking about, Zayn doesn’t seem to be in a mood. “Gonna say hi to me too?”

Harry gulps down air, blinks, and grins back. It was just a moment, it’s not a thing. Finding people attractive is natural. Even Dave was attractive, when he wasn’t being an asshole. “’course!” he declares, dropping his bag on the floor. “Saving the best for last.”

“Hey!” Louis protests, but Harry’s already tackled Zayn back onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s shoulders so he can bury his nose in Zayn’s neck, breathe in the scent of him. It’s a new cologne, but it still feels like Zayn, Zayn whose hugs are even better than Liam’s, how he feels gentle but solid all at once, how Harry can feel him laughing as he’s trapped beneath him, how when Harry lifts his head Zayn’s grinning, his nose scrunched up and his eyes curved like Harry’s the best thing he’s ever seen. No one’s looked at him like that since their winter get together, when he’d kissed Zayn’s cheek at midnight on New Year’s and Zayn, flushed with alcohol, had ducked his head and giggled before beaming at him and kissing him back. That had gotten him through a few more months at school, the memory of that look. It’s even better now, without that fucking school to go back to, just this month of camp.

“You know what this means?” Louis goes on, and Harry barely has a chance to breathe before suddenly three more boys are piling on top of him, smushing him down into Zayn until he can’t tell where any of them start or end.

“I am not large enough to be the bottom of the pile!” Zayn announces, after they’ve all managed to squirm around on top of him. “Why am I always here?”

“Because otherwise you escape,” Harry informs him, pushing up a little so he can look at Zayn. He doesn’t look in pain, just looks happy. As happy as Harry feels. “You love our cuddle piles.”

“I like to breathe,” Zayn retorts, and shoves at Harry’s shoulder. It doesn’t work well, partly because Harry’s always outweighed him, but also because he’s got three other boys pinning him there. “Which is getting hard. And there’s an elbow in my stomach.”

“This one?”

“Ow! No, that’s me,” Niall retorts, pushing at Louis’s head. Louis grabs him back, and Zayn groans.

“Okay, off.” Liam gets up, grabs at the collar of Louis’s short sleeved-button down to pull him back. "Let him breathe.”

“I’m showing affection,” Louis retorts, but he lets Liam drag him away. “Do you not want cuddles?”

“I want Zayn to breathe,” Liam retorts. Louis makes a face.

“There is blatant Zayn favoritism in this room, and I don’t like it.”

“It’s my room, so I say it goes,” Harry informs him. He shifts around, so instead of lying right on top of Zayn he can rest his head on his stomach. He can still smell Zayn everywhere around him, and Zayn’s hand’s in his hair automatically. God, it feels good. Feels good to have this. To have people touching him with affection again, not shying away from him. “You can cuddle me if you want, Lou.”

“I don’t anymore.” Louis crosses his arms. “I’ll go find some people who really love me.”

“Good luck,” Zayn puts in, and they’re still laughing when a gong sounds.

“Well,” Liam says, as Harry gets up, pulls Zayn to his feet after him. His hands are warm, warmer than usual. “Time to start.”

Orientation is just as boring as Harry remembers, a lot of Paul welcoming them then telling them all the dos and don’ts, from the actually serious—don’t go into the woods without a buddy, don’t go off site without telling anyone—to the ones everyone knows Paul doesn’t really care about—don’t use cell phones except in the bunks, no dating among counselors, stay in uniform (which everyone knows half the counselors are going to ignore and just wear jeans instead of the shorts). That out of the way, he starts on the advice, about how to actually sleep some nights and how to organize your time for the end of camp talent show, before he goes into some other speech about logistics that Harry’s sure Liam at least is paying attention to, when he’s not blushing from Sophia looking at him from across the room. But even as boring as Paul’s speech is, as boring as any lectures, it’s better than the entire last year combined, to sit between Louis and Niall, with Louis poking at his leg when he gets too bored and Zayn swatting his hand away, and Niall and him swapping dirty jokes they’ve made out of everything Paul says. To know Liam’s on Niall’s other side, and Zayn’s next to Louis, the five of them in a row like they have been every summer since they were eight.

The rest of the day is busy, a lot of running around getting things ready, so it’s not until the evening that they all pile into Liam’s cabin because it’s the biggest, spread out over two bunks so they can properly have a chat.

“Okay,” Louis says, when he’s settled comfortably with his thighs over Liam’s lap and his feet in Zayn’s. “We’ve just got tonight before the devils come, we’ve got to make it count.”

“Did you smuggle alcohol in?” Liam sighs, but he’s not quite so straightlaced as he was when they were younger and he was always afraid he’d be kicked out, so he seems more resigned than angry.

“Of course not!” Louis brings a hand to his chest, his face twisted in mock offense. “I would never do such a thing! I am a rule abiding counselor, I can’t go doing things like that.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Louis grins. “I made Zayn smuggle it in, of course.”

“There we go!” Niall laughs triumphantly, as Zayn pulls a flask out of his pocket. He’s grinning again, that hint of mischief that’s always just below the surface glinting in his eyes. There’s something about the blonde streak that brings it out, Harry thinks, studying his face as Zayn takes a swig, then licks a bit of liquid off his lips with a very pink tongue. Something that makes him—different.

“So.” Harry jolts. Had he been staring? He hadn’t stared before—what if they cared? Had he stared at any of the others, what if things changed… Louis goes on. “Quick, biggest thing that happened since January.”

It’s the tradition, the first night back. A good run down, because they try to have five-way skype calls between them more than their annual winter get-together at Harry’s parents’ bungalow, but this year that hadn’t worked, really. Everyone had been too busy, with college and classes they loved and new friends, so even catching one of them had been hard. And Harry hadn’t ever known what to say even when he had caught one, anyway.

He listens as Liam tells them about the a cappella group he’s starting, as Niall talks about being activities coordinator of his frat—which isn’t like Dave’s, Harry reminds himself—and Louis talking about how he finally asked Eleanor out like he’s being moaning about all semester, before Louis turns to Zayn.

“What about you, Malik? You and Jared still going strong?”

“Nah, that was going to be my thing.” Zayn tugs on his ear, a sure sign he’s on his guard. “We, like, broke up. A few weeks ago.”

“Fucker,” Niall snaps, before even Louis can.

“We can go beat him up,” Louis adds, sounding maybe more excited about it than Harry’d like. “Track him down, mess him up.”

“Nah, it was mutual.” Zayn shrugs. “We just didn’t have it in us for the summer.”

“Zayn, was it—”

Zayn cuts Liam off with a headshake and one of those looks they always share, like there’s a secret just between them that’s making Liam worried about him. “That had nothing to do with it, Li. Just, like. Not that intense. It was fun while it lasted, though.” Zayn’s lips curve up, into a knowing sort of smile. “Doesn’t mean we can’t still hook up, when we’re back.”

Harry swallows. He’d seen pictures of Jared on Instagram, a tall, lanky boy in skinny jeans and a shaggy haircut. Seen pictures of him and Zayn, of how Zayn’s hands had curled over his hip. He’d been jealous then, of course, because Zayn had found that, had found that intimacy, but he’d had to not think about it for his own sanity, so he could survive those long winter nights alone. But now—well, it’s hard not to picture, now that Zayn’s said that, to think of them together, of Zayn with this new blonde streak and confidence pressed against the wall of some underground show, of how he’d wrap his hand around Jared’s neck to pull him close. How—

“Harold!” Louis’s clap of his hands brings him back. “You’re the only one left, then. So, any big news from the great white north?”

“How many people know you’re a baker?” Zayn asks, shooting him a grin.

“Are you running the school yet?” Liam puts in. “Make everyone fall for you?”

“Bet his whole bed was notches,” Louis adds.

“Nah, I’m sure he’s just made everyone start eating vegan, or whatever. Doing cleanses.” Niall shudders.

Harry bites his lip, looks down as they continue throwing out suggestions. He thinks of his dorm room with its stark line down the center, of the piles and piles of textbooks. Of his Calc teacher’s hard gaze. Of the email he’d printed out and tucked into his old copy of Robin Hood that he brings every year. But that’s not—that’s not the most important. Not the most important.

“Um, like. I, well, I sort of started hanging out with some people—I dunno if they were my friends, exactly, but I hung out with them, and they were sort of alternative, I guess you could say—”

“Cleanses, I told you!” Niall interrupts. Harry almost laughs. Some of them would have, he supposes. Not that he’d ever brought it up with them. They hadn’t been friends, not really. What would the point have been?

“Shut up,” Zayn snaps. “Haz?” Harry doesn’t have to see him to know the gentle encouragement in his gaze, the only person who’s ever really sat through his rambles. He probably knows what’s coming out of Harry’s mouth, anyway. He’s the one who’s been through this.

“Yeah, well, I figured some things out, I guess? So, um. I think—no, I know—I’m pan.”

He can’t look at them, so he stares at his hands on his lap. He knows it’s not going to be a deal. Zayn’s been out since they were teenagers, and any latent homophobia among them was beaten out when Zayn was in his fighting stage. But what if it does? What if they laugh at him for figuring it out now, instead of years ago? What if he loses them too, and then there’s nobody, and school next year is as horrible as this year? What if they start treating him like Dave did, avoiding him and glaring whenever he saw them? What if—

“Pan?” Zayn repeats, and Harry looks up. Zayn’s gaping at him, his mouth open, and Liam has an arm around him like he’s the one who needs protecting from this. He looks pale, but summer’s only just started, so it has to be that. Zayn wouldn’t. Of all of them, Harry’s relied on Zayn being cool with this.

“Of course you wouldn’t limit yourself to just one gender,” Niall chuckles, breaking the silence. “Needed more people to sway with those dimples?”

“What’s the difference between pan and bi?” Liam asks, hard on his heels. “People’ve tried to explain it, but I don’t really get it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Louis scoffs, then adds, “Okay then. Zayn, kiss him.”

“What?” It comes out of both Zayn and Harry’s mouths. “Lou, the fuck?” Zayn goes on, his voice a little higher than usual. Liam’s hand is squeezing at his shoulder, Harry can’t help but notice. He didn’t think kissing him would be that bad that Zayn needs support.

“He needs inauguration!” Louis declares, not backing down. “Sorry, Zee. Them’s the rules.”

“It’s not like I haven’t kissed anyone before,” Harry hurries to point out. “Or guys. There were guys, in the, like, the figuring it out. Plenty of them.” It had been one way to keep warm, at least.

“Yeah, but were they as cute as Zayn?” Louis gestures. “And certain people have told me he’s a very good kisser.”

“Well—no,” Harry admits, glancing at Zayn. Of course they weren’t cuter than Zayn, because Zayn’s Zayn. And now, now that the baby fat’s almost gone and he’s lost the diffidence of his teenage years…Harry’s never seen anyone to hold a candle to him, whether it’s a picture of him ready to go out clubbing or him now, tucked against Liam’s side with a blush on his cheeks, his lips looking very pink as he presses them together, his eyes wide enough it’s like they’re taking up his entire face. It’s just one of those facts about Zayn. “But no one’s as hot as Zayn.”

He grins, willing Zayn to grin back. To put everything right, to not let Louis make it weird. But Zayn’s glaring at Louis, despite Liam’s hand on him. “And who told you that, anyway?” he demands.

“Oh, I have my sources.” Louis waves a hand. “You might not be Harry, but I know your secrets, Malik. It’s not like you’re stingy with your kisses.”

There’s another beat of silence, then Zayn’s lunging up, and he’s over Liam and on top of Louis, both of them rolling around as Liam scrambles out of the way, until he’s got Louis pinned down and is licking sloppily at his face. “Like these kisses?” he demands over the other boys’ laughter. “You can tell your sources about them.”

“They’ll get a full report,” Louis agrees, shoving at him, “Come and help!”

“We can’t deny your love,” Harry shakes his head ruefully. He’s focusing on that. Not on Zayn, pinning Louis down, his grin wild and fierce.

They spend another hour passing the flask around and chatting, but they’ll have to be up early the next day to finish getting things ready for the kids, so Liam shoos them out after not too long. The crickets are out in full force, and there’s still a light on in the cabin where the girls are probably still doing their pre-camp bonding, and in Paul’s, where he and Casper are probably still working, but other than that it’s dark, the sort of dark it never gets anywhere else.

Louis peels off first, flipping Zayn off as he smacks his ass on his way, then Niall, until it’s just him and Zayn.

“Night!” Harry says, when they get to the fork that will lead Zayn to the 12-13 cabins. But Zayn reaches out, grabs his wrist before he can go.

“Haz…” he trails off, but Harry waits. Sometimes Zayn needs a moment. And it’s not a hardship to wait in the night here, with Zayn in the warmth of the summer air. God, Harry’s missed this. Missed knowing where he stands. Missed knowing if he smiles at Zayn, Zayn will smile back.

“Haz,” Zayn says again. He rubs at his ear with one hand, but he hasn’t moved his other from Harry’s wrist. “Just, like. You okay?”

“Huh? Yeah!” He’s good. He’s good now, at least. Now that he’s here, with people who love him. “Happy to be here.”

“No, like, with the sexuality thing.” Zayn glances down, away from Harry. Harry’s always known Zayn’s hot, but he can’t look away from him now, all shadows and dark hair and the light catching the swirl at his forehead. “I just, you know you can talk to me, yeah?” he glances up again, meets Harry’s eyes squarely. God, his eyes are big. “That you could have talked to me, if you were having problems, or issues, or anything. I’ve done it before.”

“I know.” Harry does. He’d been so close, sometimes, his finger hovering over the call button on his phone, because Zayn’s somehow fallen into that role, here and at home, from what he’s said. He’d almost called, whenever Dave had pointedly gone to the bathroom to change. After the first time he’d kissed a boy, and the boy had laughed and kissed back before wandering away, leaving Harry wanting and confused. After the first time he’d fucked a boy, and he’d had no one to tell. But, “I just, didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s not a bother.” It comes back quick and hard. “You’re not a bother.”

“Thanks, Zee.” He knows he’s dimpling stupidly, but it’s so good to hear. To know. He’s not a bother here.

“Any time.” Zayn’s tongue flicks out, over his lips. “Really, you need to talk, it’s not—anything I can do to help. You should have told me, if it would have helped.”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to look down, to see their shoes there in the grass together, Zayn’s scuffed converse and his own loafers. They’ve stood like this so many times before, talking together out in the night here, Zayn sneaking away for a smoke or Harry sneaking back in after an illicit snog behind the girls’ cabin. It doesn’t feel weird at all, except that it does, somehow. Because Harry could have called, except Zayn was posting pictures of him at parties, of him with boys, one of him in drag that had Harry’s mouth going dry, while Harry was desperately studying in his dorm room, hoping he’d magically understand calc this time. Except Harry was supposed to be the one who was good at all this, at sex and romance and charm and people, and he hadn’t known this whole part of himself, not really. Except he’d held onto Zayn’s smiles sometimes, after stumbling back to his empty room after a drunken hook up with a guy whose name he didn’t know, with the knowledge that it could be different.

“It’s fine. I’m good now. Promise.”

It’s instinct, Harry knows, that has Zayn’s thumb stroking at his wrist, instinct to comfort like Harry’s seen Zayn do with his sisters, with the younger kids. But Harry can’t help but focus on it, on the heat of it.

“If you’re sure.” He knows Zayn’s look before he even looks up, the intent concern. Sure enough, that’s what he sees. The way he’s always looked at Harry when he was hurt or in trouble, like he could fix things with just that look. “Just ignore Lou, though. That’s what I’ve found works.”

“Well I know that,” Harry retorts, and Zayn laughs. “Didn’t kiss you, did I?”

“Guess not. Good job, there, yeah.” There’s an odd note to Zayn’s voice, and suddenly his hand’s gone from Harry’s, leaving it cold, and Zayn’s rubbing his collarbone when he gives him a confused look. “I, yeah. I just wanted to say that, though. Make sure we were good.”

“We’re always good,” Harry tells him, and it isn’t even a lie.

“Not always. Remember when we used to fight?”

“Fine,” Harry drawls, rolling his eyes. Maybe they hadn’t gotten along always at the beginning, but that was years ago. “We’re always good now. What would I do without my Zaynie?”

“Fall over a lot?” Zayn suggests, his lips quirking upwards in the moonlight, and Harry wants to kiss him.

It hits him all at once—or maybe not, maybe it’s always been there—but Harry wants to kiss Zayn. Like he’d kissed those boys in their dorm rooms, like he’d kissed the girls against the dirty walls of the seedy bars that were the only places to go, like he’d kissed those girls behind their cabins. He wants to taste his pink, pouty lips and feel Zayn’s stubble against Harry’s jaw.

“Yeah, probably,” he stammers, to say something, because it’s Zayn, he can’t just kiss him, and Zayn knows him too well so he tilts his head and gives him another concerned look, and that’s not okay. He doesn’t want Zayn looking at him like that, like he’s concerned, like he’s worried. He wants Zayn looking at him like he’s amazing, like he always did. “I should, um.” He hasn’t stammered like this before. He’s always been smooth. Here at least. “We should go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Zayn’s still just looking at him, all friendly concern, and Harry would still very much like to kiss him, to get his hands in his hair and taste the colored ink on his arm and see what it would feel like to be Jared. “Um, yeah, guess so. Sorry to—just wanted to make sure, you know?”

“Yeah.” Harry shakes his head, brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Thanks, really. But I’m good.”

“’Course you are.” Now Zayn really does smile, bright and brilliant, and there’s that want again. “Night, Harry.”

“Night.” It’s a little rude, but Harry has to get away, and Zayn will understand. Zayn always understands. He leaves Zayn there, and hurries into his cabin, where he throws himself face down onto his bed. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

But it’s okay, really, he decides, turning his head so he doesn’t suffocate himself. He might not have really expected it, because he’s known Zayn since they were seven, but he’s out now. He’s thinking about those things. Of course he’d want to kiss fit boys. He probably wouldn’t mind kissing any of the other lads, because they’re fit too.

He scrolls through them in his mind, tries to imagine kissing Niall, and his nose wrinkles. Okay. Maybe not any of them. But none of them are as fit as Zayn. And he wants to kiss Zayn, and that’s—that’s fine. He sort of wishes Zayn would be up for some friendly snogging, but he can’t really ask that of someone he’s known for more than a decade, and Zayn’s never been one for casual camp things really, and that’s okay too. He doesn’t have to kiss everyone he wants to kiss, because there are a lot of fit people in the world and Harry would like to kiss many of them. One of them just happens to be his best friend. Which is fine. Utterly, completely fine.

And the kids will be here tomorrow, and then Harry won’t have time to think about kissing anyway. He rolls over, looks at his empty cabin, imagines the little children who will be curled up there this time tomorrow. He falls asleep planning ice breakers for them tomorrow, and not at all thinking about how Zayn’s thumb had felt pressed against his pulse.

\---

Harry bounces up and down a little, as he watches the buses pull into camp from where he’s waiting with Melissa, the female counselor for the 5-7s. She’s new, but he likes her from what he knows of her so far. It’ll be good, this year. It’ll be excellent.

Harry looks over the milling kids heads to meet Niall’s eyes. Niall grins back at him, and Harry knows they’re both thinking of how they used to feel as they got off those buses, when Louis and Zayn would come from one and Liam and Harry from another and then Niall off yet another, finding each other to hug and cheer, ready for their summer.

He can’t help how he continues his sweep of the yard, until he gets to the 12-13 meeting spot. He’s been sort of trying to avoid it, to get his head on straight, but he’s determined not to be weird. This is his summer, and he especially can’t be weird with Zayn. So he looks.

Zayn somehow manages to pull off the white and red of the Camp TXF t-shirt better than anyone else in the world, as Vanessa giggles over something he’s said, from where she’s tucked against his side, his cheek resting against her hair. He looks more than half asleep, given the hour, his eyes closed, but she pokes at his side and he makes a face at her, before looking up again, doing his own sweep. His gaze meets Harry’s before Harry can look away, and he makes another silly face, his tongue sticking out. Harry puffs up his cheeks, and Zayn grins before he replies to something Vanessa says.

“Are they a thing?”

“No,” Harry snaps. Too quickly, apparently, from the way her eyebrows go up. “I mean, no, Zayn’s gay. They’ve just been friends for a while.”

“Oh,” is all she replies, and Harry can feel himself harden.

“Is that a problem?” Harry asks, trying not to demand it. He and Mel need to get along, at the least, but there are some things he won’t tolerate. Especially when it applies to him too, now. But he shouldn’t—they need to get along, maybe he shouldn’t have said it so blatantly—this is how it started with Dave—well Dave had never liked him, but it had made everything worse—

“No! It’s just a pity. He’s really hot.”

Harry lets out a breath, grins. “I know.” He steals another look. He can just see a hint of ink at the nape of Zayn’s neck now, peeking out over the collar of his t-shirt, and he shouldn’t notice that. Or if he does, it should be academic, not him wanting to bite it. Like he shouldn’t notice how he can see his eyelashes from here, and a glint in his eyes as he glances Harry’s way again.

“Not that it matters, right? No dating between counselors,” Mel goes on.

“Yeah, that doesn’t really stop anyone,” Harry informs her. The buses are all lining up, and Harry can see rows of faces pressed to the windows, some he recognizes, some he doesn’t. “As long as Paul doesn’t actually see you making out, it’s pretty much fair game.”

“Huh.” She nods, hums. “Well don’t let that give you any ideas. I’ve got a boyfriend.”

Harry holds up his hands. “I wasn’t!” he protests, then gives her his cheekiest, dimpling grin. “Not that you’re not very pretty. But we couldn’t let the kids become the children of divorce.”

She laughs, and Harry didn’t know he was nervous that she wouldn’t until she does, chuckling and elbowing him in the side. “I think we’ll be fine, then.”

Harry’s about to say something flirty back, just to stay in practice, when the doors of the buses open, and the kids come pouring out.

Then it’s just a tidal wave of gathering up the boys, saying hi to the ones that are coming back, introducing himself to the new ones. There’s six of them this year—fewer than most cabins, but they’re the youngest—and only four have tear stains on their cheeks, and three of those are already laughing, chattering with the other boys and girls. Only one is still looking downtrodden when they’re all gathered and their bags have been located and are being carried back to the cabin, a little boy with big brown eyes that remind Harry a little of Liam’s when he was a kid and chubby cheeks that are more Zayn’s.

“Hey, buddy.” Harry crouches down, as the rest of the boys mill around, claiming their bunks. “You okay?”

He nods. The nametag they all wear this first day says James in shaky letters, so, “Missing your mom, James?”

Another nod.

“Want to know a secret?” Harry whispers, looking furtively around. None of the other boys are noticing anything, too busy bouncing on beds. James follows his gaze, and nods again, this time looking a little more interested. “Me too.”

“Really?” James blinks, big and incredulous.

“Really,” Harry replies, very seriously. “That’s normal. When I was here and your age, I cried too.”

“You cried?”

“So much.”

“How’d you stop?” James sniffles. Harry holds back his smile, because there’s always one.

“I made friends. They’re pretty awesome, we’re all still here. Then I forgot all about my mum.”

“But…” James looks at the other boys again, shifting anxiously. That had never been Harry—he’d never had a problem making friends, or at least, not when he was a kid—but Harry thinks of Liam, even of Zayn when he’d shut up for once. “What if I don’t make friends?”

“I bet you will,” Harry promises. It’s rash, but he’s only ever had one kid who really was miserable the whole time, so he thinks he’s pretty sure. “Now, want to hear a knock knock joke?”

He gets James laughing with jokes, because kids know he’s funny, and pretty soon the other boys are all gathered around him, trading their own jokes, which are admittedly at about the same level as his. That keeps them until it’s time to go meet everyone in the mess for Paul’s introduction speech, so Harry gets them all into their t-shirts and starts herding them out.

Everyone else is gathering too—they sit next to Mel’s 5-7 girls, of course, and after some initial eying up the kids all integrate pretty well. Liam and Sophia’s groups are all together as well, the teenagers chatting bashfully, a few with Sophia and Liam, but the middle ages are, as always, more gender separated. Louis’s in a stare off with one of his boys, because he, as he calls it, likes to assert his alphaness right off the bat, and Niall seems to be getting ready for a sing along, because he’s always ready for a sing along.

Zayn’s kids are at their table, chattering as Zayn watches from one end. He’s barely even disheveled from the afternoon, even though Harry feels a bit like he ran a marathon, and Harry’s going to look away any second now, really.

“Harry?”

There, he can do his job. That’s better to think about than whether he could get Zayn to look messed up. He looks down to the tug on his elbow, to see one of his—Aaron, he thinks, and checks the nametag to make sure—looking up at him. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got to pee.”

Harry sighs. Of course. “I’ll show you where. But what’s the rule?”

Aaron thinks, his tanned skin furrowing. “Always take a buddy?”

“Yep!” Harry gives him a high five. “So why don’t we see if James has to go to?”

“But I don’t want a buddy. I’m seven.”

“We always have a buddy,” Harry says sternly. “James, man. Want to go on an adventure with us?”

“Yeah!” James hops up off his seat. Harry catches Mel’s eyes over the kids heads, jerks his head out to the hall. She nods, and he leads the boys towards the bathrooms. Later, he’ll let them go on their own, but not this first day, when they’re still finding where everything is and are still unsure in general. He waits for them to be done, because eventually he’ll trust them on their own but not their first day, then gets them back just in time to slip onto a bench for Paul to start talking.

Harry could recite Paul’s welcome speech by heart, by now—Louis actually is, he can see, making his boys giggle as he mouths along, even after the glare Liam shoots at him. Still, every time he hears it, it’s the same feeling, like the first time he sat on these benches. When he was nervous and sad about leaving his mum and excited and out of his depth. He’d been lucky, he knows; everyone makes friends, but Louis’d decided that first day that he looked cool even though he was new—because he had an elephant backpack, Louis’d told him, years later—and that they were going to be friends. Then there had been Zayn and Liam, always together that first year, Zayn asking their counselor question after question and Liam trying his best to answer all of them, his brow furrowed as he thought, anxious to impress his new friend, and the next year Niall had come too, with his loud laugh and the accent they’d all thought was so cool. It’s not the same anymore, of course, and every year it was different, but Harry still feels the same. Like it’s summer, like there’s the possibility of so many new things.

Paul finishes up, then sends them off to get ready for the first activity session. This one they’re doing in their age groups, though after this it will be mixed, depending on what the kids sign up for. But for now, Harry and Mel have the first walk around, before their kids get too tired, so they file out first, while the others go to their parts of the tour.

They do the traditional walk around the lake, Harry taking point because he knows this place better than Mel. He points out the boathouse, the docks, the swimming area; the edge of the woods where you’re not allowed to go without a counselor, the grass where activities not based anywhere else meet, the place where the talent show will be at the end of camp. He only trips a few times, and given that he walks backwards a lot, that’s basically a success, and the kids just laugh at him anyway. When they get back, he has time to exchange tired faces at Niall before he takes them around the camp itself. Then it’s back to the cabins to help them unpack, and he loves his little ones, he does, but sometimes he wishes he could have the older ones so they could do some things for themselves.

But they can’t, and he gets a little circle going, all of them unpacking their suitcases together, putting them in the right order. There’s only a little bit of underwear thrown, which is better than usual.

After the first night they’ll eat at their own tables usually, but tonight Harry likes to sit with them, make sure they understand where to get food and are all settling. The others are too, he knows; Liam and Sophia are sitting at the counselor’s table, but their kids can do it themselves. And also, Liam isn’t fooling anyone with the way he steals glances at her all the time, same as he had all of last summer. Zayn’s eating with his kids though, and as Harry watches he catches a red headed-boy’s hand before he throws food. Harry snorts, and turns back to his food.

He shows them all where to clean their trays, and takes a quick head count before going back to the cabin for sweatshirts for the bonfire.

None of them can remember where their sweatshirts are, of course, so it’s a bit of a mess, and they’re getting tired and cranky and more of them are remembering they aren’t at home, so Harry’s midway through pulling out his hair when there’s a knock on the door.

Harry spins—and Zayn’s there, holding the hand of Malik, one of Harry’s seven year olds who already almost started a pine cone fight in the woods. Malik’s got a sheepish grin on, and Zayn’s clearly fighting to keep a straight face, like he gets whenever Harry tells a joke he knows is good even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “I think I found something that belongs to you,” he says, admirably sober.

Harry sighs. Fuck. Great way to start off camp. “Malik—”

“I wanted to see if I could find Cass!” Malik protests, shameless.

“Cass?”

“His sister,” Zayn explains, “One of Vanessa’s.”

“If you wanted to see your sister, you have to tell me,” Harry sighs. “And take a buddy, remember?”

“But I could do it myself!” Malik informs him. “I found my way there all alone, ‘cause you told us where it was so good. ‘cept Cass wasn’t there.”

“Still, I need to know where you are, okay? No more running off.” Malik nods. Harry’s almost certain he doesn’t believe him, because he knows a troublemaker after ten years of being friends with Louis, and Malik’s got that light in his eyes. But he can’t call him on that. “Now can you apologize to Zayn for making him bring you here?”

“Sorry Zayn,” Malik recites, sing song. Zayn snorts, clearly not believing him either, but he grins fondly down at Malik’s dark hair.

“No problem. We had a good talk about Power Rangers.”

“Did you know Zayn’s got a comic tattoo?” Malik asks Harry, tugging on Zayn’s arm so he can show Harry. “C’mere, look!” The other boys are starting to notice, and Ryan hops up to come over.

“’s cool, isn’t it?” Harry agrees. “But Zayn’s got to go.”

“You do?” Malik asks, turning big eyes at Zayn.

Zayn runs a hand over his hair. It doesn’t mess it up at all, of course. “Yeah, man. But I’ll see you at the bonfire, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Malik enthuses, and lets Zayn go. Zayn chuckles as Malik runs to his bunk, leaving Harry and Zayn in the doorway.

“Thanks,” Harry tells him. Zayn shrugs. He’s still got the remnants of a grin on, and Harry wants to kiss it off. Shit.

“Not a problem, like I said. He’s a cool kid. Gonna be a handful, though.”

“There’s always one.”

“There were five of us.”

“Yeah, but it was almost all Louis’s fault. Or yours.”

Zayn laughs, but doesn’t deny it. “It was fun, though.”

“Still is.” Harry looks at the boys, then at Zayn, his eyes still glinting in the cabin’s light. He’s not that hyperactive kid anymore, or the defensive teen he’d been for a while. There’s something surer about him now, something that’s somehow connected to the new ink on his arm, or the streak in his hair. But he’s still Zayn, still Harry’s best friend, and fuck but Harry wants to feel his stubble against his skin.

“So, um. I should get back.” Zayn rubs at his ear, and Harry blinks. Friends. He can push down any inconvenient attraction. “I’ll see you at the bonfire.”

“Yeah, we’ll debrief!” Harry grins back. He’s cool. He’s so very cool, he doesn’t even watch as Zayn leaves, doesn’t notice at all how his jeans hang off his narrow hips.

\---

“Hazza!” Louis drops down onto the log next to Harry, still grinning from his dash around the fire to chase down one of his boys who’d been hoarding marshmallows. He looks more proud of the kid than annoyed. “We haven’t had a good talk yet, c’mere.”

Harry laughs, turns into Louis. His kids are all rapt around where Niall’s playing his guitar, singing silly camp songs, so he has a break. “Missed you,” he murmurs, into Louis’s embrace.

“You too,” Louis says, quick, and drops a kiss onto his forehead. “Come on, tell me about college. I need to hear all your stories.”

Harry could, he thinks. He could tell Louis, who knows him as well as he knows himself, who was the first to decide Harry was worth befriending here. Who’d gotten him into adulthood by sheer force of will. He could tell Louis, just how horrible the last year was.

But Louis’s smirking expectantly, the glint in his eyes clearly thinking of his own experience he’s been talking about so much, how he’s starting on his club soccer team and his hot new girlfriend and all the many friends he’s made. He expects the same, Harry knows, from Harry. Harry, who’s always sort of been his protégée, for all Louis’s only barely a year and not even a grade older. What’s Harry supposed to say? I couldn’t do it? It was horrible? I made the wrong choice?

“You know, it was good,” Harry says, instead. “Have you talked to your mum?”

It’s a surefire distraction, and Louis beams. “Called her this afternoon. Want to see pictures of the girls?”

“Do you have any of the twins?” Harry asks. He likes Louis’s sisters, but really the exciting part is the babies.

“Do I have pictures of the twins,” Louis snorts, digging into his pocket, “What kind of doting big brother do you take me for?”

“Tomlinson!” Paul’s voice calls out, and they both freeze, out of long habit. “Phone!”

Louis lets out a long, irritated breath. “Sir yes sir!” he snaps a salute, to the laughter of the campers, as Harry pouts next to him. He wants pictures of babies.

But he has to take comfort in Louis’s whispered, “Later,” and instead leans back on the log, looking around. The fire’s throwing sparks up into the darkness of the air, the kids are all singing along with Niall, who’s grinning bright enough to be another fire. Across the fire, Liam and Zayn are sharing their own log, curved into together, murmuring their own catch up, probably. They’re out of their camp t-shirts for the night, and it’s so much worse, how Zayn looks in his Henley and flannel over it, the sleeves rolled up so the ink on Zayn’s forearm is clear. The firelight flickers over his face, making his cheekbones narrow, his eyes light up.

“You know, I was just messing around, telling Zayn to kiss you,” Louis says. Harry wills away his blush.

“I know.”

“I mean, Zayn’s very pretty. So if you wanted to kiss him, I wouldn’t blame you. But I—I’m cool with it.”

“Thanks.” And Harry means it, too, because he doesn’t know what he’d do, if Louis hadn’t been okay with it, here. If any of them hadn’t, but Louis’s his best friend here, as much as the other boys are his best friends. If he had to give that up…But not here. Never here. “Means a lot to me.”

“Don’t know why you’d ever be nervous. You’re stuck with me, Styles.” Louis nudges Harry, then. “So, does that change your prospects for this summer? Casper’s cute, isn’t he?” He nods at the tall blonde cook/assistant/boating instructor/everything else, who’s talking with Paul. “And older, that’s always been your type.”

“You interested?” Harry laughs. Casper is cute, and tall, and blonde, and he’s got all sorts of interesting muscles. But his gaze flicks away from him, back to Zayn, who’s—well, fuck. He’s licking marshmallow goop of his fingers, his pink tongue obvious around each digit, and suddenly all of Harry is hot. He’s done that before, finicky as a cat sometimes, Harry knows that, but holy fucking hell, he’s not prepared for it now. Does Zayn even know what he’s doing? That’s dangerous.

“I’m just looking out for my boy,” Louis laughs, and Harry drags his gaze away from Zayn guiltily. The bonfire’s always been so good for sneaking away, though, when all the kids are being watched. At sneaking off to the first bit of the woods, or a cabin, where you can push someone into the rough wood of a tree, get some time alone before anyone came to look for you. It’s probably pavlovian, Harry’s response to it. That’s all.

“What’s happening here?” And there’s Zayn, suddenly, on Harry’s other side, and he’s close and Harry can feel the space separating them like an ache and it wasn’t supposed to be like this. This summer was supposed to be fun, casual, easy. No attraction to someone who’s always almost been his brother. “Sounds like fun.”

“I’m gauging Harry’s chances of hooking up with Casper by the end of the summer,” Louis tells him. There’s a moment’s pause, then Zayn nods, as Harry swallows down the urge to go hide in a bush. He’s talked to Zayn about who he wants to hook up with before, it shouldn’t be different that it’s a guy. Zayn always gives the best advice, listens the best, so of course Harry usually goes to him even if he does laugh. So it’s no different, Harry insists to himself, and throws his legs into Zayn’s lap.

“What do you think of them?” he asks, grinning his best come hither grin, full of dimples.

Zayn just shakes his head. “How could anyone resist you?” he laughs. But it’s not Zayn’s real laugh, is tense and a little forced. Is he jealous? He and Casper have always been close, ever since Zayn first came out and Casper’d been there to help him—Harry hadn’t though there was anything there, but maybe…

But Harry laughs back, because that’s what Zayn’s always said when he wanted his opinion on things like that.

“So, he’s your choice for the summer?” Zayn goes on.

“Don’t know why you think he’d just have one,” Louis puts in, and dodges Harry’s swat at his head.

“I’m not that much of a slag, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, leave off,” Zayn agrees, and Harry grins at him. He can always count on Zayn for a defense. This is why he can’t kiss him, because he needs Zayn like this, with a hand wrapped casually around his ankle and his smile soft and fond. He needs this Zayn for next year.

“Fine, then, do you want Casper for yourself?” Louis retorts. “Newly single man and all. And he’s your type too, isn’t he? You like blondes.”

“What’s with you and types?” Harry asks. Zayn likes people who aren’t blondes. Zayn doesn’t like all people who are blonde. Zayn could like brunettes too. And Harry likes to think that Zayn would have told him if he had a thing for Casper. Just because Zayn didn’t have other camp crushes to tell him about didn’t mean he wouldn’t tell him.

“I’m just saying,” Louis shrugs, but something in his smile means mischief. “Zayn tends to go for guys who are taller than him, and usually blondes. Like you go for women—people, sorry—who are older than you. It’s just an observation.”

Harry’s taller than Zayn, he thinks before he can help it. Not by much, but he’s taller.

“I was told there were baby pictures over here,” Zayn says firmly. His hand’s tight around Harry’s ankle, like he’s using it to ground himself, but he’s got his raised eyebrow dare of a look at Louis, like he’s challenging Louis to keep on with it. With anyone else, it’d be a dangerous expression to give Louis, because he’s never met a dare he won’t take, but it’s always worked for Zayn. “If not, I can go where I’m not being ragged about my preferences.”

“There would be, if Paul didn’t still distrust me,” Louis mutters, sulkily. “Come on. I’m a counselor now, he can’t yell at me anymore.”

“Don’t worry, Liam’s got it.” Zayn nods over, and sure enough Liam’s deep in discussion with Paul. As they look, he glances away from Paul for a second to make the scrunched-face expression Harry knows is him trying to wink, then goes back to his talk. “So, babies?”

“You two and your child thirst,” Louis mutters, but he’s eager as he pulls out his phone for them all to look. They’re adorable kids, chubby cheeked and playful, and Harry misses having kids about. When that’s done, Zayn gives Paul another furtive look, then pulls his own phone out to show pictures of the kid he apparently babysits, a little girl whose pictures he beams at.

“Brooklyn’s mum’s my advisor,” he explains, “She’s really sick, like, a proper fashion designer and all, and she’s been amazing getting me settled, had me over for dinner and shit when I was feeling really homesick. So when I mentioned I needed a job and all, she suggested I sit for her. And Brook’s the best.”

“Your advisor had you over for dinner?” Harry echoes, incredulous. He thinks he’d seen his advisor once, maybe. He’d tried to make an appointment when he’d first realized he was almost failing Calc, but the professor hadn’t had time for months.

“Well, Caro’s, like, especially great, but, yeah. Perks of a small school,” Zayn laughs. “That’s what you get for going to someplace massive.”

“Yeah, well.” He could tell him now. It’s the perfect opening. But then Zayn goes to the next picture, and there’s Zayn with his arms around Brooklyn, beaming down at her, and Harry’s heart thumps, and it’s distracting enough that he doesn’t care.

“Okay, all!” Paul’s standing up, and Zayn slips his phone away. “One last song. Everyone, gather round.” He gives the counselors a pointed look. “Feel free to go get your counselors, if you want.”

That provokes a stampede, and they’re all getting pulled off the logs, so Harry ends up with James on his lap and the rest of his boys around him.

“Could I ask Zayn to sit with us?” Malik whispers in Harry’s ear. Harry’s not surprised. The end result of Malik’s adventure was a healthy hero worship for Zayn.

“He’s got his own campers,” Harry tells him, even though yeah, he thinks he’d like Zayn sitting here. Preferably with their lips connected. “He can’t sit with us.”

“We could all sit together,” Malik points out. “I want to sit with Zayn. He knows everything about superheroes.”

“He does,” Harry agrees, “You’ll see him more, though. Zayn does a lot of activities. If you sign up for arts and crafts, or the nature walk, you can hang out with him.”

“Fine.” Malik sighs, and sits down with his arms crossed, as Niall starts the camp song they end every bonfire with.

Then there’s a hundred kid’s voices rising up, mixed with the lower voices of the counselor’s, and Harry sings along just as loudly as the rest, the words he’s had memorized since he was seven. It’s the same as every summer, as good as ever, and the rise and fall of the voices feel like they’re in Harry, carrying him up, ridding him of last year. He belongs here, in this place that’s just his.

He doesn’t mean to look at Zayn, he doesn’t, but somehow he ends up looking there anyway, at Zayn and the way he’s grinning as he sings. Somehow, he knows Harry’s looking, meets Harry’s gaze, and his lips curve differently, into a smile that’s just for Harry, and Harry has to look away.

\---

Harry’s not the last one to breakfast the next morning, but he is the last one to drop into his seat at the counselor’s table, after giving the kids a refresher course on where to get their food, and assuring Kevin he’ll like swimming. By the time he gets there, drops into his own seat between Zayn and Louis, everyone else already has their food, and Zayn, who had been the last one to the mess hall, has his head on the table and is, apparently, asleep.

That’s not unusual, so Harry takes the syrup Liam passes over Zayn’s head. “First day of camp!” he says, slathering his pancakes with the syrup. “Everyone ready?”

“Stop being so awake.” Louis isn’t quite so bad as Zayn, but he’s got his hands wrapped around a mug of tea and is looking mutinous.

Harry meets Niall’s gaze from across the table, and Niall grins. “But it’s such a beautiful morning!” Niall enthuses.

“The sun is shining, the birds are chirping,” Liam agrees, as Harry takes a bite and chews loudly in Louis’s ear. “I got in a nice run, too.”

“Really? I should go with you next time,” Harry swallows. “We should all go. See the sun rise. The water on the lake’s beautiful in the—” He dodges the flailing hand that comes, not from Louis, but from Zayn. “Beautiful in the morning sunlight!” He laughs, moving away. It tips him a little into Louis, but Louis just shoves him back upright.

“We should sing a song about it,” Niall points out. “It’s time to get up—kicking isn’t going to stop me, Lou—it’s time to get up in the morning—”

Zayn lifts his head up from his hands, and even after ten years Harry’s not prepared for the full force of his pout, his eyes huge and tragic. “Make it stop,” he whines, and Harry’s stomach flips. Even half asleep he looks good. But Zayn’s been like this every morning for as long as Harry’s known him. It shouldn’t hit him now.

In defense, Harry covers his eyes, and joins in with Niall, “we’ve got camp hall breakfast for you—”

“Leeyum,” Zayn whines again, his lower lip jutting out even farther. “’s loud.”

To no one’s surprise, Liam shakes his head, but says, “Okay, guys. Enough.”

“When have you been waking up, anyway?” Harry asks. This is something he should know for next year. “Haven’t you had class?”

“First of all, this is summer break, I shouldn’t have to wake up, like, at all.” Zayn takes the coffee Liam’s wordlessly offered him, takes a sip, “Second, I don’t have classes til, like, noon, come on.”

“Lazy bones,” Liam laughs, and goes to ruffle Zayn’s hair before Zayn slaps his hand away.

“Hazzzz,” he whines, falling into Harry’s side, “They’re being mean. Make them be nicer, ‘m not awake yet.”

Harry’s fine. He’s fine with the way Zayn’s leaning against him, his cheek on his shoulder; he’s fine with how Zayn had moaned his name. It’s barely breakfast, he shouldn’t be turned on. He shouldn’t be thinking about how Zayn’s tongue’s flicking out to lick syrup off his lips.

“You’re gonna have to wake up soon,” Niall points out. “Breakfast’s almost over.”

“I could have slept for five more minutes,” Zayn retorts, and doesn’t move. “Fortified myself against the morning.”

“At least you get to sit down with the quiet kids,” Louis points out. “I’ve got to deal with two shifts of kids running around on a soccer field.”

“You signed up for it, it’s your own fault,” Zayn shoots back. “And if you think the arts and crafts tent’s quiet, come by after a macaroni war sometime.”

“Is anyone floating today?” Niall asks, shoving a whole piece of bacon in his mouth. Harry watches, a bit in awe. But he doesn’t feel anything there, not like he does even now, with Zayn’s hair brushing against his cheek. “Or are we all doing something?”

“I haven’t got an activity,” Liam says, pushing his plate away from him. “But I was—I mean, Sophia’s got a bunch of kids on the nature walk, I was going to see if she wanted help with that? The long activities are always hard.”

“Yeah? Gonna give her a helping hand?” Louis teases, waggling his eyebrows, and Liam’s ears go pink.

“It’s their first day going around! I don’t want anyone to get lost.”

“Or you and her could get lost together,” Harry suggests. He feels Zayn shake with laughter against him, and grins too. “Wandering the woods, probably cuddling together for warmth…”

“Carrying her over streams, like the proper gentleman you are,” Zayn adds. Liam’s properly red now, all over, and he shoots a look down the table to where Sophia’s talking with the other girls.

“Guys!” he hisses, leaning forward in a way that only makes it more obvious what he he’s doing. “She’ll hear!”

“That you want to help her out? Don’t see how that’s a problem,” Louis says, and stretches up in his chair. “Hey, Sophia! Want Liam to tag along on your walk today?”

Sophia looks over at them. Liam gives her a weak smile, and a shrug, which really, Harry thinks he can do better. Liam’s adorable, even if he sometimes forgets it. “Yeah,” she says back, at a normal volume, and smiles sweetly at Liam. “That’d be nice.”

“Looking forward to it!” Liam says, then as soon as she looks away again, drops his head into his arms, much like Zayn had earlier.

“Thanks, Louis,” comes out from between his folded arms.

“You’re spending the entire morning with her, you should be thanking me.” Louis sets down his mug of tea definitively. “I’m the best wingman. For instance, Zayn, if you do want to get laid this summer, you should probably stop hanging off of Harry like that.”

From how close they are, Harry can feel Zayn stiffen, and he shoots a glare at Louis. He doesn’t mind Zayn hanging off of him like that. He should mind, because he smells like a musky cologne and something that Harry somehow knows is Zayn, and something about having Zayn like this makes him think about what would happen if Zayn turned his head just a little, so his lips were against Harry’s neck, but he can’t find it in him to mind. Zayn’s always hung off him like this, it’s part of their friendship. Cuddling’s the basis of their friendship, basically, how Zayn’s apparently decided Harry makes the best pillow and Harry likes to steal Zayn’s body heat. It has been since they were ten and finding common ground in stories about old outlaws.

“Just saying.” Louis holds up his hands, like he’s innocent.

“It sounded so stupid,” Liam’s still moaning. “Looking forward to it. I’m so lame.”

“No you’re not, Li.” Zayn’s suddenly far away from Harry, his hand rubbing Liam’s arm comfortingly. “It didn’t sound lame, and even if it did, it made her smile.”

“Really?” Liam lifts his head, a hint of wonder on his face.

“Really.” Zayn smiles at him too, and flicks at his forehead. “I think she might want you around sometimes.”

“There’s true love, isn’t it?” Louis drawls, and Liam looks ready to respond when Paul stands up to announce activities are splitting off.

Harry’s with Louis’ counterpart Monique at the lake today. Normally they’d go down there first, but today, the first day, they’re still walking the kids places. So Harry gathers up the kids who wanted the really early morning swim and wave good-bye to everyone else, as Zayn leads his flock to the arts and crafts tent, Louis his to the fields, and Niall off to the mess where he’ll be assisting Casper today. Monique’s fine to work with—she’s never been close with them, for all she’s been around a while, but they’ve worked the lake before and know how to keep tabs on everyone. Harry tries to learn everyone’s name, and he’s always been good at that, so by the end of the first hour of watching the kids play he thinks he’s got all the faces accounted for. The only incident all morning is a minor squabble over a sand castle, but that’s fixed easily enough, and Harry has plenty of time to lie in the sun.

Which also means, unfortunately, a lot of time to think, and somehow, his thoughts go to Zayn. Like they have too often in the last few days. He’s just—he’s different now than he was, even last year, Harry thinks, holds himself taller, somehow. He’s always marched to the beat of his own drum, but he’s not so defensive of it anymore, and it makes him softer, a bit. That must have been college, all the friends he talked about, all those artsy kids who he painted with. And the ones in the Southeast Asian club he’d mentioned sometimes, chattering excitedly during their winter meet up, the ones who really got his heritage and how he felt about it. Even when they’d skyped, there’d always been someone in the background, a new friend, his roommate who had turned into one of his best friends.

Harry thinks about his room, always cold no matter what he did, not helped by Dave’s constant judgment, that he never said but Harry always felt, even when Dave was in the frat house instead of their room. How everyone seemed to have their places already, and how there was nowhere for Harry to fit, not like he had in high school, where he fit anywhere.

But if Harry’d lost his place, Zayn’d clearly found it, and it looks good on him. Which Harry can’t think, because he can’t sacrifice ten years of friendship for a kiss, no matter how much he wants it. There will be other hot guys. There won’t be other Zayns. Even if he had looked so kissable that morning, all pouty lips and big eyes, and a mood Harry knew he could make better if he could have bitten on that lip—

“Harry, Connor splashed me!” The cry comes out, and Harry is thankfully distracted.

Then there’s the flurry of packing them all up for their next activity, and making sure they all know where to go for that and that anyone who doesn’t is paired up with someone old enough to get them there, then the next group come running in and into the water. He spends the rest of the morning in the lake, organizing a game of marco polo, then they have to get all the kids up and dried off, then back to their cabins to change, so this time they are the last back to the mess hall for lunch.

Harry’s greeted by a “Harry!” from Ryan, who scampers up to him brandishing a piece of paper. “Look what I made!”

Harry gives the drawing—a family grouping, he guesses—a serious look. “That’s amazing, Ryan!” He grins, giving the kid a fist bump. “It looks sick. You’re a professional artist, right?”

“No!” Ryan laughs. “Zayn helped me with the puppy. He said they’re all circles. See?” he points, and Harry nods.

“It’s great,” Harry agrees, and glances around. “Where is Zayn?” It’s a casual question, really.

“He sent us on ahead, ‘cause James was crying.” Ryan makes a scornful face, but Harry’s eyes widen. Shit.

“Okay, cool. Ryan, can you go sit down? If you need anything, ask Mel, okay?”

“Yeah.” Aaron bounces off, and Harry catches Mel’s eyes, jerking his head at the door. She nods, and Harry slips off. What happened to James? He doesn’t quite run to the arts and crafts cabin, but he’s definitely hurrying. If one of his got hurt on their first day—if something really happened—

His heart’s pounding by the time he gets to the cabin, and he’s ready to burst in when he sees them. James is sitting on the bench, one knee bouncing, as Zayn very carefully places a dinosaur bandaid on the other knee. Harry lets out his breath. Thank god.

“Did you know chickens are really dinosaurs?” he’s saying, as Harry leans against the threshold.

“Really?” James sniffles. His eyes are red, but he’s not crying.

“Yep. They’re t-rexes, really. So whenever you eat a chicken, you’re really eating a t-rex.”

“Woah.” James looks suitably impressed by this information, and distracted from his tears, which was clearly the point. Zayn pats down the bandaid.

“There you go. All good. Just a little scrape.”

“It wasn’t little,” James mutters, and Zayn nods.

“You’re right. But you’re lucky, ‘cause it fits in a bandaid. Can you keep a secret?” James nods, seriously. “Okay. Once, Harry was running on the dock, and he got a splinter this big!” He holds his hands wide apart, and James giggles.

“No he didn’t!”

“No, it was only this big.” Zayn narrows his fingers to something that’s probably only twice the size of the actual splinter, though it hurt enough to be that big. Harry can’t help his smile. He’d forgotten about that. “But he got it in his foot, and he could barely walk. We had to carry him everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” James echoes, incredulous.

“Yeah. He would have cried otherwise.”

“I would not have!” Harry protests, before he thinks better of it. James and Zayn both glance over at him identical surprised expressions on; then James starts giggling again and Zayn grins, wide and teasing and goofy, and Harry still wants to kiss him. “I wouldn’t have cried, don’t let him tell you lies, James.”

“You would have cried, babe,” Zayn teases, but he stands up as Harry walks in. “You whined about how much it hurt all the time. Not like James here. He’s barely cried at all.”

“He’s lying,” Harry retorts. He isn’t, exactly; Harry does remember crying a bit, but it had really hurt to walk on. And he does remember how the other boys had given him piggy back rides everywhere if he cried enough. “Not about you, I’m sure you haven’t cried, or less than me, but I didn’t whine. And it did hurt.”

“Okay.” Zayn rolls his eyes, then holds out his hands to James. “Let’s get you some lunch, yeah?”

“Yeah!” James hops up. He doesn’t seem any worse for wear from the scrape, scampering along ahead of them as they walk out of the cabin.

“He’s okay,” Zayn tells Harry, quieter. “Didn’t mean to worry you. I thought we’d have it cleaned up by the time you got back.”

“No problem. Just a minor heart attack.” Harry nudges Zayn’s hip companionably with his own. “Did you have to tell him about the splinter?”

“Would you rather I have told him about how you fell off the dock last year?” Zayn shoots back, and Harry sticks his tongue out at him. That had mitigating circumstances around it. And Louis had dared him.

“Remember that one, do you?” Harry teases, sticking out his tongue. “Did me being all wet stick in your head?”

Zayn’s smile changes, just a bit, and Harry can’t tell what it means. “Yeah, well. Remember Liam jumping in to save you.”

“I did not need saving. Liam just wanted to show off.”

“Whatever you say. The time you got stung by a wasp while you were with Susie Finn?”

“Susie Finn.” Harry sighs nostalgically. “I’d forgotten all about her.” She’d been cute and it had been easy to smile at her, to know what to do when she’s smiled back. To sneak off behind the cabins to make out for a bit, because he thought she had a boyfriend back home but that didn’t matter at camp, and she’s had this pink lipgloss he’d wanted to taste. He wonders where she is now. “You trying to show me up, remembering more about the girls I’ve hooked up with than me?”

Zayn shrugs, and looks down at the path. “Maybe I’ve been keeping a tally.”

“Do you have a total?” Harry asks. Their hands brush between them. It’d be so easy for Harry to grab his hand, intertwine their fingers—it wouldn’t even be weird, they’ve held hands before, climbing things or when they’re nervous or pulling each other places. But Harry’s palm is sweaty with the thought of it, now.

Zayn glances at him, and Harry’s distracted enough by the sidelong look through his lashes that he barely hears the, “I gave it up. Got too high for me.”

“Hey!”

“And then there’s all the girls at home, and boys and girls at school,” Zayn goes on, and Harry sticks out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

“There weren’t that many.” He pauses, and lets the melodrama fade. “And, I mean. You’re the one with actual boyfriends. I just hook up with people. They don’t care about me.”

“They love you.” Zayn steals another look at Harry, something shy in it, like he used to be so often. “They do already. Not like anyone can escape it.”

Harry’s stomach flips. He can’t tell if it’s bitterness, or something hotter, something about Zayn’s eyelashes and the soft look in his eyes as he compliments Harry. But, “Yeah, no one,” Harry replies.

It must come out more bitterly than he expected, because Zayn’s look changes, goes into something more concerned. But before he can ask, they’ve reached the mess hall, and James is running in ahead of them, proudly showing off his band aid to the other boys as Zayn separates from them to go check on his campers.

“If I get a cut will I get to hang out with Zayn?” Malik asks, his lip jutting out sulkily as he examines the bandaid. Harry laughs, ruffles his hair.

“I think there are better ways to hang out with Zayn then to hurt yourself.”

“But James got to!”

“And it hurt,” Harry rushes to say. He doesn’t want any kamikaze children in the hopes of more superhero time. “You can do activities with Zayn instead, he always likes to talk about superheroes.”

“But—”

“How was soccer today?” Harry interrupts, and luckily it diverts him enough that Harry thinks he’s nipped that train of thought in the bud. It could be worse, he supposes. One of his kids could start hero-worshiping Louis.

He eats with his kids, because he wants to hear about their mornings and make sure they’re set for the afternoon, and also because it’s distracting. As long as he’s listening intently to all the awesome beetles Liam showed them on the nature walk, he’s not wondering if Zayn’s looking at him, or thinking about Zayn’s lips, or remembering how Zayn had smiled at James, or at Harry.

\---

After a full day of trying very hard not to think about Zayn, and a night where he fell asleep imagining what could have happened if he had grabbed Zayn’s hand, even Harry can see the writing on the wall. He’s not stupid, no matter what his grades last year said, and he’s not actively given to self-delusion. He knows what he feels.

The problem is—he’s not sure he wants to. And he knows it’s a stupid thing to feel.

Today’s fireside activity is storytelling, and as Harry’s been generally forbidden from telling stories by the united vote of all counselors and Paul, he can sit back and watch. It’s Liam’s turn to tell the story, which Harry is fairly certain is lifted entirely from an episode of Power Rangers, but he’s got a lot of enthusiasm, and the kids who aren’t enthralled are all chatting quietly. Harry’s trying to pay attention to it, he is, but he can’t help looking to Liam’s side, to where Zayn’s leaning against his calves, his head resting on Liam’s knee. His head’s tilted back as he watches Liam tell his story, and he’s got that little smile on, the one he uses when he looks at any of them.

“Louis.” He nudges Louis, who’s sat next to him on the bench again.

“I wish I was allowed to use my camera,” Louis replies, like Harry had asked the question. “If he was looking at Sophia right now, he’d ask her out immediately.”

“Hm?” Harry’s momentarily distracted by finding Sophia. She’s sitting among her campers, somehow managing to stay elegant even cross-legged on the ground, but yeah, he sees what Louis means. She just looks so fond of Liam, as his hands wave around to tell a story about a toad, amused and fond. “No kidding.”

“Right? Adorable.”

“You’re such a sap,” Harry teases, because he is, despite how much Louis likes to pretend he’s a cynical asshole.

“I am not. I just want to be able to tease Liam about his marital bliss.” Louis snorts, lifts his chin. “And not listen to this story, what’s it about?”

“Dunno.” Harry swallows. He needs to ask, though. And it’s Louis. Louis will make fun of him, but he isn’t mean. He won’t be. And he’ll—he’ll give Harry his honest opinion. “Um, what do you think about Zayn?”

“Zayn?” Louis tilts his head in confusion. “Top lad. Partner in crime. Should probably spend less time on his hair, but hey, who am I to judge?”

“No, like.” Harry tugs on his own hair. This shouldn’t be worse than coming out to them, but he’d known they’d be okay with that. This is—this is so stupid. This could ruin them. And it’s probably all moot anyway. “As—as a someone. Like, romantically.”

Louis’s eyebrows go up so high, they’re practically in his hair. “Zayn? Our Zayn?” Harry nods. “Well.” At least he’s shocked Louis speechless, there’s some pride in that. Not much, though. And not for long, and what if this is a horrible idea? “I mean, he is pretty, I guess.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” That’s an understatement.

“But…” Louis trails off, and that, and the serious look he gives Harry, in the flicker of the firelight—it means something. Louis’s not serious, without good reason. “If you just want someone to get off with for the summer, there are easier people. I think Monique would be up for it. Or, if you wanted a guy…”

“I know that!” Harry protests. Doesn’t Louis get that he knows that? That he’s been trying to tell himself that, and it hasn’t worked?

“He’s hot, Harry, but there are other hot guys. Who aren’t our best friend.” Louis wrinkles his nose. “Who you didn’t see covered in horse shit that one time.”

Harry laughs, because Louis can always do that. But there’s a smattering of laughter from the campers too, and it draws Harry’s eyes back to Zayn, how sitting in such a way that Harry thinks he’d fit perfectly against his side. Or that Harry could have his hand in his hair, not just to hold him close as Harry kissed him, but to have him leaning there with his cheek on Harry’s knee. To have it mean something, if he sat like that.

Suddenly, he’s meeting Zayn’s gaze, and he looks away quickly enough he hopes Zayn didn’t catch him staring.

“What if…” he shrugs. “What if it weren’t just to hook up?”

If possible, Louis’s eyebrows go even higher. “Do you have a crush on Zayn, Harry?” he doesn’t sound surprised, somehow. Harry’s not surprised. Subtlety has never been his strong suit.

Harry pulls his arms tighter around him. It’s warm out, and his sweatshirt makes it more so, but he still feels the need. This should be easy. He used to be good at this part.

“Maybe.” He looks down, at his hands. “I dunno, like—I think so?”

“Then…” Louis trails off, and Harry knows he’s looking at Zayn, knows he’s thinking about it. “Well, yeah. You could have chosen worse.”

“Really?” Harry’d been expecting Louis to tell him how stupid it was, that he’d mess everything up and he should just pretend he wasn’t feeling like this. Which probably wouldn’t have worked, Harry knows, but he could try. “You think it’s a good idea?”

“Since when do I care if something’s a good idea, Harry?” Louis throws an arm around Harry’s shoulder, hugs him close. It’s nice. To know, without a doubt, that Louis has his back. “And you two won’t let it mess things up, he’s dealt with people liking him before.”

“So you think I should go for it?” Harry asks. He knows he’s beating a dead horse, but he needs to be sure.

“Since when do you need my opinion about who to go after?” Louis asks, but before Harry has to answer, he’s going on, “But yeah, I could see you guys having a summer thing, it’d be good.”

The story’s switched to Zayn, now. He’s telling the story of Robin Hood and Little John’s meeting, and it makes Harry’s heart warm, how bright Zayn’s eyes are as he tells the story, how he flashes a grin at Harry as he does. Superheroes have always been Zayn and Liam and Louis’s thing, and Harry’d given that up, but not a year had gone by when Zayn and Harry hadn’t taken some time to find new stories about Robin Hood, since Zayn had found Harry reading a story collection about them when they were eight. It’s some of Harry’s favorite times of the summer, him and Zayn and dashing men, and now Zayn’s telling it with a look at Harry like it’s a secret between them. It makes Harry’s stomach flutter, but that’s mixed up with Louis’s words. With the lie sitting at the base of Harry’s chest, the thing he hasn’t said.

Everyone’s watching Zayn, except for Liam, who’s watching Sophia watch Zayn. There won’t be a better time. And he needs to tell someone, he thinks; Harry’s not made for secrets. Not made to keep things from Louis.

“Actually, it wouldn’t have to be.”

“Long distance sucks, take it from me, and it’s not sustainable—”

“No,” Harry interrupts. “I mean, I’m transferring. I’ll be in school with Zayn, next year.”

“What? Why?” Louis demands. He lets go of Harry so he can spin him around properly, to glare. “If this is because of Zayn—”

“No!” Harry cuts him off again. He glances around, but somehow, thankfully, no one’s looking at them still. “Or, sort of, because he loved it so much? And so I looked into his school more. But I’ve been accepted since May.”

“May?” Louis echoes. “And you didn’t tell us?”

Harry shrugs. “Didn’t seem like the sort of thing I had to tell.”

“Have you even told Zayn?” Louis asks, then immediately shakes his head. “No, ‘cause Zayn would have told Liam, and then we all would have known.”

“Zayn can keep a secret,” Harry says, but it’s quiet, and Louis ignores him.

“I thought you liked your school, though,” Louis goes on, and there’s that concern, back again. “Why are you transferring?”

“It was—” Horrible, Harry wants to say. It was horrible, no one knew me, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. No one seemed to like me, my roommate disliked me at first then thought I was going to attack him later, I was flailing in all of my classes and no one wanted to help, I was so alone. But Louis looks so concerned, and he doesn’t want to worry him, and he’s not supposed to be the one who was miserable. They were worried about Liam, who’d always had trouble in school, and Zayn, whose shyness could have meant he never left his room. Harry was supposed to be fine. He should have been fine “It just wasn’t what I wanted,” he says, with a shrug. “And they have a better program for English, which I think is what I want.”

“Okay…” Louis doesn’t look entirely like he believes him, but he doesn’t question Harry on it. “So, not just a summer thing?”

“If it happens.” When Harry glances at the fire, Zayn’s leaning forward, his hands waving as he tells his story. Harry’s always loved how Zayn looks when he gets excited about something, how much he lights up.

“It’ll happen. You’re Harry Styles, no one can resist you.” It’s the same thing Zayn had said, but there’s no spark in his belly, no need to flush, just to roll his eyes at Louis. “Especially once you tell him—”

“Don’t tell him!” Harry yelps. He lowers his voice. “Don’t tell him, or anyone. Please?”

“Why not?” Louis asks. It’s a fair question. They don’t have secrets between the five of them, not really.

“Just…I want that not to matter?” Harry says. It’s a weak excuse, Harry knows. It does matter. It should. But Harry can’t just admit how bad things were, not when it was so easy for the rest of them. “Just, don’t, okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” Louis sighs. “So. How are you going to woo our Zaynie?”

Harry grins, puts on his cheekiest smile, and licks his lips. “Do you really think I’ll need to woo anyone?” he purrs, and Louis laughs and swats at him. In avoiding it, Harry manages to fall off the log, and then finally everyone notices and starts laughing at him, which isn’t unusual. Harry gets up, sweeps a bow, scowls at Louis, then picks his way across the fire to throw himself down next to Zayn. Zayn’s arm goes around him immediately, and Harry turns so he can snuggle closer. Louis thinks it’s a good idea, or not a bad one, and for all Louis’s joking there are some things he doesn’t fuck around with. Maybe it’ll work out.


	2. Chapter 2

“What’re you doing here?” Zayn asks in surprise the next day, when Harry shows up at the arts and crafts tent ten minutes after the kids got there. Harry had spent those ten minutes ostensibly helping clear the tables, but if he had also spent three looking at himself in the mirror and making sure his hair was rakishly disheveled, well, he needs to look his best.

“Thought I’d stop by, see if you need help this morning.” Harry opens his arms wide. “I am at your service. Tell me what to do.”

“Um.” Zayn’s gaze flicks over him. Harry resists the urge to preen, even if he’s not sure it’s sexual. “Um, yeah, sure. Never say no to some help.”

“Well then.” Harry ducks his head so his hair falls into his eyes. He knows how to do this. How to make his voice go a little lower, to lead with his hips as he walks. How to make people want him, for a moment at least. “How do you want me?”

Zayn blinks, then he smirks back, the playfully come hither thing he does with people he jokingly flirts with. “Every which way, Haz, you know that.” He tugs on the lock of Harry’s hair in front of his face.

Harry wrinkles his nose, then remembers he’s supposed to be seducing Zayn. “That could be arranged.” He steps forward, just a little bit in Zayn’s space. He can do this. He’ll do this, then they’ll end up making out behind the cabins tonight, and it’ll be perfect.

For a second, Zayn’s smirk flickers, and his eyes are wide as he looks up at Harry, wide and a little taken aback, his lips gaping open just a bit, like all the confidence he’s learned slips and he’s the kid Harry used to know, still finding his way to being sure in his skin.

“Madison!” Zayn snaps, suddenly. Harry jumps, but he turns around when he sees Zayn glaring over his shoulder. “The macaroni’s not for eating.” The little girl guiltily drops her hand back to the table.

“But Zayn,” she points out, sounding imminently reasonable. “It’s macaroni. It’s noodles, right? Like macaroni and cheese.”

“Yeah, but this macaroni is for making things out of.” He shakes his head, rubs his hand over his ear, circling the earring. “Okay, let’s get started. We’re doing macaroni drawings today.” He takes one step back from Harry, then two. “And Harry’s going to help us today! Do you all know Harry?”

“Hi!” Harry waves to them, and follows Zayn to the head of the table, where he’s got a workstation laid out for himself. Harry quickly follows suit.

After Zayn gives his instructions, he gets up to wander, leaving Harry to concentrate on his own macaroni artwork. He steals a few glances at Zayn, as he leans over to help the kids, nodding at all their problems. He lingers by a boy who looks like one of his, who has the sort of intense uncertainty Harry remembers Zayn having, then leaves him with a squeeze on his shoulder. But in general, Harry’s busy making his own, and helping the kids near him.

Harry sees the first group of kids off as Zayn cleans up, but instead of doing what he probably should to be helpful and getting out more supplies, he gets up, goes over to where Zayn’s fussing with some paper, so he can slide an arm around his waist and lean into him. He’s just so warm, so warm and familiar and steady, and he smells good. He feels like home, somehow, the certainty that he’ll always smile back at Harry, and his ear’s right there, it would be so easy for Harry to bite at the earring he’d rubbed over earlier.

“Looking over your kingdom?” he asks, instead.

“Hm?”

“Your kingdom, here, right? Your little Sherwood Forest. Always your place.” He keeps going before Zayn can say anything. “You’re good with them.”

“The kids? I should hope so, given our jobs.” Zayn’s not looking at Harry, is looking very intently at the construction paper in his hands. Even when he does that, though, it never feels like he’s not paying attention to Harry, like he isn’t there. “Be a problem if I wasn’t.”

“No, but, like. Teaching.” Zayn smiles at that, the little smile he always gets when he gets compliments, looking down at his feet. “You’re gonna be a great teacher.”

“This is—”

“Take the compliment,” Harry orders, sternly. Sometimes Zayn needs to be ordered to do that. “You’re going to be great at it.”

“Thanks, then.” Zayn lifts his hand to rub at his ear, but he can’t because Harry’s there instead, so he just drops it back down. “I can hire you as my assistant, then. You’re good at that.”

“I would be an excellent assistant,” Harry agrees. “I could make the jokes to keep everyone upbeat.”

“Not even kids think your jokes are good,” Zayn replies, deadpan, and Harry makes a face.

“Hey!”

“’s okay. They’re so bad they’re good.”

“At least someone thinks so.” Harry would cross his arms, but he likes having his arm around Zayn’s waist. He always has, both of them so tactile and all. Zayn’s never objected, so Harry assumes he likes it too. And he seems to position himself for it just as often as Harry does, anyway.

“I’m sure everyone thinks so, babe.” Zayn glances over at Harry, so Harry can only see it through his eyelashes. His really, really long eyelashes. “Didn’t you join some sort of improv group?”

“Yeah. Well, I thought about it,” Harry says, hurriedly. He’d thought about it, he’d gotten to auditions. But then he heard the other people auditioning, and they were really funny, not just Harry-funny. He wasn’t surprised when he didn’t make the cut for the group. Or any of the other groups. “But I didn’t…my humor wasn’t right for them, I guess.”

Zayn’s eyes narrow. “They didn’t want you?”

Harry snorts, probably more bleakly than he wanted to. “I mean, it was okay.” Sort of. Harry probably wouldn’t have liked them anyway. “I don’t know if comedy’s for me. You always say I’m not funny.”

“Yeah, but that’s, like, no.” Zayn shakes his head fiercely. “It’s their loss, babe. Didn’t know what they had.”

Harry can’t help his smile this time. “Well, if only you had been there to tell them,” he teases. He needs to change the subject. Telling Zayn this won’t help his wooing plans.

“I’ll come visit next year,” Zayn promises immediately. He turns, so he’s facing Harry, and his gaze is so intent. “Make sure they know what they have.”

You won’t have to, Harry doesn’t say. It’s not the time. Not yet. Not now. Instead, “You didn’t—you said you had a friend in an improv group, right?”

The fierceness fades into a fond grin. “Yeah. Dee’s sick, really hysterical, you know? One of those people who just, like, make you laugh. She’s great.” Dee. Harry files that name away. Dee is funny. “You’d love her, she’s Craig’s girlfriend’s roommate.”

“So your…”

“Oh, you know, we’re all a crew, like.” Zayn smiles, thinking of it. Harry’s not sure if the feeling in his gut is jealousy that someone else makes Zayn smile like that or that he had that crew, but either way it’s fine. Zayn doesn’t give anyone else his Harry-smile, and next year he’ll be able to be there with that crew.

“Was Jared part of the crew?” Harry asks. This is important information he needs to know.

“Yeah, ‘course. It’ll be chill though.” Zayn shrugs, but he’s straightening, pulling away from Harry. Harry lets him go, because it’d be weird otherwise, but he doesn’t want to. “We’re chill.”

“So chill,” Harry shoots backs, in his best Zayn imitation, and Zayn laughs, his eyes crinkling. Harry grins, satisfied that he got that smile, then they’re both just standing there grinning at each other, which isn’t actually unusual. Zayn’s eyes actual sparkle, Harry notices, which shouldn’t be possible but he’d swear they do. It’s enough to get lost in, the sparkle of his eyes, the way they’re brown one minute and hazel the next, the—

“Zayn!” Comes a child’s cry, and Zayn jumps, shakes his head.

“I’ve got to—yeah,” he mutters, and turns away, towards the kids coming in the door.

Harry sighs, as he heads towards the flock of children too, ready to greet them and help out. So, not making out behind the cabins yet. And he only has twenty-seven more days.

\---

At lunch, Harry makes sure to snag the chair next to Zayn, then inches slightly closer whenever he gets a chance so that by the end of lunch their knees are pressed together. Zayn pats his leg, and turns to Liam to get into a very intense conversation about something. After lunch, Harry and Niall are doing a sing-along/karaoke activity, and Zayn’s off leading a woods hike, so Harry focuses on how many verses of the wheels on the bus he can think of without going very dirty. He thinks all his dirty jokes go over the younger kids’ heads at least, and the older kids and Niall laugh.

Zayn’s already talking with Liam when Harry gets to the table that evening, but he looks up with a smile, so Harry takes that as a win. Unfortunately, Monique’s on Zayn’s other side, so Harry sits across from him, and starts talking about tonight’s capture the flag game with Louis and Niall.

The capture the flag game’s always an intense affair, even if it’s not very long. Harry runs around with his team, generally making as much of a fool of himself as possible, because the kids laugh and no one cares. Liam, at the head of their team, is a solid, determined force that the kids are rallying behind a bit like an army, which makes Harry laugh; on the other side, Louis and Zayn’s heads are constantly together. Zayn might not usually like running around or anything, but he’s sneaky.

It’s a neck and neck game, the kids cheering and laughing, and Harry hasn’t had more fun for a while, as dusk falls around them. They’re a few minutes away from Paul calling time when Liam sends him out with two other kids to get the flag they know is hidden in the bushes.

They’re almost there when the shout goes up, and the defenders come running. Zayn’s already nearby, because of course he wouldn’t want to run, and he smirks when he sees Harry there.

“Not gonna get by me, Styles.” He steps slightly to the side, so the kids can go after each other.

Harry grins back. Zayn’s still incredibly put together, his hair quiffed up with that blond streak drawing the eye and no mud or anything on him; it makes Harry want to see if he can mess him up. And he’s always been in better shape than Zayn, even if Zayn can be weirdly strong. “Want to bet? At them, men!” He calls, and dodges Zayn’s outstretched arm.

The kids are laughing, darting around, and Harry can see out of the corner of his eye another member of their team sneaking out to grab the red scarf that’s their flag. He just needs to distract Zayn more.

“Can’t catch me, can you?” he taunts, and Zayn makes a face.

“Zayn!” Louis calls, from farther away. Shit, he might have seen. “Stop going easy on him and just get him out!”

“Yeah, don’t go easy on me,” Harry laughs, dodging around a tree.

“Oh, I won’t,” Zayn retorts, then he’s got lunging forward, and at the exact same time Harry hits a root and starts to trip.

They fall together, tumbling down so Harry lands hard on his back, all the breath going out of him.

It takes him a second to regain his bearings, but he’s used to falling. And this fall ended up with Zayn on top of him, straddling his hips, his arms braced on either side of Harry. He looks as shocked as Harry.

Harry’s not one to let an opportunity go by. “Well, you caught me,” he drawls, grinning up at Zayn, shifting just a bit. “Now what will you do with me?”

Zayn blinks, long and slow. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and it looks like—well, on anyone else, Harry would wonder if he was thinking about kissing Harry, if he was thinking about how he was straddling him. But it’s a tic Zayn has, Harry knows that, he’s done it before when he looked at Harry, so Harry doesn’t know what it means—and he doesn’t have much time to think about it before Zayn’s off of him, almost falling backwards before he catches himself.

“You okay?” he asks, scrambling to his feet, and offering a hand to Harry.

“Yeah.” Harry takes it, lets Zayn pull him to his feet. He holds on for a second after he’s on his feet, but Zayn doesn’t seem to notice, because he’s eyeing Harry carefully, his gaze dragging up his body as his other hand rests on his shoulder, and Harry swallows down the shudder at that look, like he’s taking in every bit of Harry.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Harry makes a face. Or he’s making sure Harry didn’t hurt himself. That’s an option too. He always does this, whenever Harry manages to hurt himself. He’d been the one to carry Harry around half the time. It’s nice, though. Knowing he cares.

“I’ve fallen before, Zayn,” Harry tells him. Zayn still hasn’t let go, and it’s going to be a problem, if Zayn doesn’t want him to kiss him right now. “I’m fine.” Fine, except for how he Zayn’s lips are very pink, and wet from how often he licks them, and his eyelashes are devastatingly long. How had Harry never noticed that before? Never noticed how gently he holds Harry’s shoulder, not like Harry will break but just like he’s being careful.

“Harry!” Liam’s voice comes, suddenly close. Harry could keep holding on, keep close, but Zayn jolts away, ducking his head.

“Um, yeah,” he mutters. “Just checking.”

“Always fine, aren’t I?” Harry asks. “Every time I fall.” He grins. “As long as you’re there to help me up.”

Zayn gives a little shake of his head, and in the dusk it could almost look like he’s blushing, but then he looks up again, and he’s grinning instead. Maybe Harry was just seeing things. “Maybe, but you’re in jail.”

“Tackling doesn’t count!” Harry protests, but Zayn just sticks his tongue out and jogs off, back to his base. It looks like, in the time that took, someone did tag the kid with the flag out, so the game’s still going on. Harry makes a face, and heads towards the jail.

\---

“So, that looked like a moment,” Louis says, after the game’s finally done. He’s still sulking a little bit, because they lost, but Harry’s spent the whole night free time so far cuddling him into a better mood, so he’s coming out of it. “With you and Zayn, when he fell.”

Harry shrugs. The kids are all pretty quiet, exhausted by the game, so he’s not too stressed; he can see all his boys around the cabins, in various groups. He can even see Malik deep in conversation with Zayn and some of Zayn’s boys, snuggled into Zayn’s side.

“No, he was just checking if I was okay after I fell.”

“And those lingering touches I saw?” Louis demands. “That was just a friends thing?”

“It’s just Zayn being Zayn,” Harry retorts. “He’s always checked on me like that.”

Louis hums, considering, but he doesn’t contradict Harry. Zayn always does check up on Harry like that, like he’s always watching Niall to see if his knees are okay. It doesn’t mean his wooing is working. Or at least, he’s not sure if it is.

“Hey, I found something.” Harry looks up from the bench, and Zayn’s there in front of him, grinning. Harry can’t help grinning back.

“Did you bring me a present, Zayn?” Harry demands. Maybe he should get Zayn a present, a flower or something. That’s romantic, he supposes.

“I see how I’m valued,” Louis drawls before Zayn can answer, getting to his feet. “I’ll take myself off somewhere people bring me presents too.”

“Good luck with that,” Zayn retorts, and Louis glances around to see if any of the younger kids are watching, then flicks him off before leaving. Over Zayn’s shoulder, Harry can see him wink, and Harry makes a face back before he focuses back on Zayn. Zayn’s smile changes somehow when he sees Harry looking at him, before Harry can identify what it was before.

“A present?” Harry demands, again. Zayn laughs as he takes Louis’s place on the bench. It’s different with Zayn next to him than Louis. Harry’s aware of every line of his body, every space between them, like it’s always been with a crush. But it’s different too, because it’s Zayn, and Harry doesn’t think twice before poking his side.

“It’s not, like. Really a present. Just, your hair’s been getting long, seems like it’s annoying you, so I thought, maybe…” Zayn giggles, clearly at himself, and holds out what was once the flag. It’s probably dirty, but there’s nothing visible on it.

“What?” Harry tucks his hair back, self-consciously. He knows it has been getting a little long, but he kind of likes it like this. Thinks it might fit in better in the city with Zayn, far away from the place and the person he’s been this past year. Remake him a little. He thinks it looks good, or he did, but… “Think I should cut it?”

“No!” It’s unexpectedly vehement, and Zayn smiles sheepishly when Harry looks askance at him. He knows Zayn has strong feelings about fashion and shit, but he hadn’t expected that. “No, I mean, ‘s cute, yeah? Looks good. Just, if you wanted to tie it back, the scarf might work.”

“Oh!” Harry knows he’s probably grinning stupidly big, but Zayn likes his hair, and the scarf’s a good idea. He takes the scarf, folds it a few times, then ties it around his head, pushing his hair back. He feels almost self-conscious in front of Zayn, which he never has before, but now—it’s Zayn. And that means something different. “So?” he asks, pushing it a little.

Zayn’s smiling at him again. Harry’s never understood why people used to think he was broody or mysterious; sure, he’s a little moody sometimes, but he’s smiling more often than not. “Looks good, Haz.”

“All thanks to you.” Harry replies, dimpling, and because Zayn is smiling at him, and he’s there, he turns so he can lie down, resting his head on Zayn’s thigh. It’s comfortable despite the boniness of Zayn’s thigh, and Zayn’s hand’s in his hair automatically, and Harry only spares a little thought for the fact that his mouth is now very close to Zayn’s dick.

It’s only a little thought, though, because it’s nice, to lie there with Zayn’s hand in his hair, just listening to the sounds of children’s laughter. If Harry closes his eyes, it’s like nothing changed, like it’s last summer and he was so ready to take the world by storm, so sure he could.

And last summer, he thinks, Zayn’s hand scratching over his scalp wouldn’t be turning him on, wouldn’t be making him wonder if Zayn would pull his hair if he was sucking him off. Harry’s pretty good at it now, he thinks; it’s the one thing he got good at last year. Even Zayn, who Harry knows has been hooking up with plenty of people since he got to college and realized how hot he was, would probably be impressed. He could probably be better than Jared, anyway. Zayn would probably hold his head, but gently, Harry thinks, letting his eyes drift shut. Guiding him, but not too tight, giving Harry room to work. Or maybe he’d be gentle until Harry got him desperate, got him so needy he’d be making noises Harry doesn’t know but wants to, so Harry could pull off a little to lick at the tip and look up at Zayn and see him staring down at Harry like he’s his entire world, like he’s amazing, and then he might swallow him down again and Zayn would probably be telling Harry how good he is how much he needs him, and—

And Harry really, really shouldn’t be thinking about this when he doesn’t know the next time he’d get enough private time to jerk off. So he wills his dick not to listen to any of his thoughts, and opens his eyes.

It’s a weird angle from here, but Harry’s convinced Zayn doesn’t have any bad angles. And no matter what Harry just thought about him being mysterious or whatever, he looks broody now, looking out at the kids playing with a thoughtful look in his eyes, like he’s seeing more than what’s there.

Harry doesn’t like it. Or, well, it’s very pretty, very artistic, but it’s also sad, and Harry wants Zayn to smile, not be sad.

“Hey.” He sits up, but stays close enough that their thighs are pressed together. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Zayn lets out a long breath though, so Harry throws an arm around his waist. It’s not even him being selfish, he thinks; Zayn’s always been comforted by being hugged, always melts into Harry’s arms. “Just, thinking.”

“Dangerous.” Harry nudges at Zayn’s shoulder with his nose. “You look sad, what’s up?”

“Nothing. Just—”

“Thinking?” Harry suggests. Zayn rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling now, so that’s better. “Why?”

“Dunno. Like, it’s…it’s good, right? But it’s…” he trails off again. Harry waits, waits for him to put his thoughts into words. He hasn’t needed that yet this summer, but there’s something nice about knowing he still does. That all the confidence college has given him can’t change that. That the blond streak and tattoo can’t make him any less Harry’s Zayn. It gives Harry some confidence too. That he can be himself again. “I just, this is the last summer I’ll be here, probably.”

“What?” Harry has to sit up at that, to stare at him. They always come back. Every summer. It’s a tradition. This is home, every summer. That has to be true. “What do you mean?”

Zayn rubs at his ear. He’s still looking out at the kids playing. “We’ve got to do, you know. Internships, or whatever. Get experience.”

“This is experience!” Harry protests. Zayn has to come back. He doesn’t know what camp would be like without Zayn, but he knows he doesn’t want to find out. Camp’s the place, but it’s his boys too. The people and the place combined to make it his refuge. “If you want to teach, this is the perfect experience.”

“Hazza.” Zayn’s giving Harry the look he hates, the vaguely condescending look that makes Harry feel every one of the months he’s younger than Zayn. It’s not even mean, it’s just…matter of fact. In that cynical way Zayn has sometimes, where Harry knows he feels like he’s seen more of the world than Harry has because he’s had to deal with more. And he has, Harry knows, but…it grates differently, now. Now that he doesn’t necessarily feel younger. Now that he doesn’t want Zayn to think of him as less than equal.

“This is good experience for you,” Harry repeats, stubbornly. He needs this place. This was one of the only thing that got him through last year, knowing this would be there at the end of it. “And it’s…you can’t not come.”

“Li and I were talking,” Zayn says, like Harry hadn’t said anything. “We’ll see where we end up, but if it’s both in the city, we might try to share a place? You could come visit.”

“Or you could come back here.” Harry feels a little like one of his kids, insisting and insisting and insisting when the grown ups say no, but Zayn has to come back. Even apart from his crush, Zayn has to come back. He’s Harry’s best friend. He has to.

“Harry,” Zayn repeats. He’s still not looking at Harry, but when Harry squeezes his waist, he lets Harry pull himself closer, like if he held on tight he’d never have to let him go.

“Yeah.” Harry sighs, and nestles into Zayn’s chest. He’s so good at holding Harry like this. Like Harry’s come home. Like he doesn’t care that Harry’s being unreasonable, that he’s going to hold Harry anyway. Maybe this is what he needed, all those months; someone to hold him like this.

“You know it won’t, like. It won’t change us, right?” Zayn murmurs, somewhere over Harry’s head. “We’ll still have New Year’s and we’ll find time in the summer, and all.”

“Yeah. But it won’t be the same.”

Zayn sighs. “Nah, but. It’s time, you know? Got to think about the future and all that. I was talking to Caroline about placements, and it could be good, get some real teaching experience. And it’d be good to be able to go see some of my friends from college, like, see what they’re doing, a bit.”

“I guess.” Not that Harry would know.

“Oh really, you guess?” Zayn’s voice sounds like it’s trying to be lighter than it is. “Like you don’t have a full plate of visitors as soon camp’s over.”

Harry bites his lip. But it’s easier, cuddled close to Zayn, with kids playing around the campfire. “No, it’s pretty open, actually. Maybe I’ll hang out with high school friends, some.”

“Your friends in the great white north too far away?”

Harry would shrug, but he can’t quite. “Guess so.” But he doesn’t want to talk about that. “You just have to promise you won’t forget about me.”

“Never,” Zayn promises, and he’s almost laughing, but it doesn’t sound like it’s at Harry. It doesn’t sound happy either, and Harry doesn’t want Zayn laughing like that. “I could never forget about you, Haz.”

“Good.” Harry squeezes his waist once, then lets him relax. Not that he’ll have a choice, but still…he doesn’t know what he’ll do, without these summers. Without this one place that is always his home, where he always knows there are people who love him.

He can feel Zayn breathing, easy and comforting, and he tries to breathe with him, in and out, watching the kids play, like they used to years ago. Like they always have.

When he looks up, Zayn’s looking at him, not the kids. He’s got that sort of sad smile on, and it’s even worse focused on Harry, but it’s painfully pretty too.

Harry reaches up, on impulse, and runs a hand through Zayn’s hair. Zayn wrinkles his nose, and tugs on one of Harry’s curls, but that look’s still in his eyes a little.

“Zayn—” he starts, even though he doesn’t know what comes next, if he’s going to say anything, but then,

“Zayn!” Comes the cry, very clearly a kid’s. “Zayn, Mike and Jace are fighting!”

Zayn does smile now, a real one. “Duty calls.”

“Yeah.”

“Harry, you’ve got to let me go.”

Harry pauses for a second, just to be a shit, as Zayn tries to stand up and he holds on. Zayn’s laughing by the time he gets free, and Harry leans back on the bench to watch him go.

There are still three and a half weeks, he tells himself, not bothering not staring at the stretch of Zayn’s shoulders, how they taper into his narrow waist, his ass. And then another year. Anything could happen. Anything could change.

\---

And it is changing, Harry thinks. He can’t be sure, but he knows he’s not being subtle, and sometimes it seems like Zayn is responding. He holds out Zayn’s chair for him at breakfast the next morning, gets him his coffee and rubs his back until he wakes up properly. He even makes him laugh before they leave for their activities, which, given that it’s before ten, Harry takes as an accomplishment.

He doesn’t see Zayn again until lunch, because Zayn’s doing the arts and crafts tent again and Harry’s playing soccer with Louis, but he makes Zayn laugh more then, and he thinks might see Zayn looking at his lips once or twice.

But it’s hard to be sure, and Harry’s busy too, running around with his kids, doing his own activities. It’s good to be busy, and even better, it’s good to be wanted, for people to ask Harry to help out. He goes with Vanessa on her nature walks, coaxes some of the more leery swimmers into the water, makes cookies for everyone. He doesn’t spend all his time thinking about Zayn.

Zayn’s always there, though. Harry’d never noticed, somehow, just how there Zayn is. Or that’s not true, because Zayn’s always been there, in every one of Harry’s camp memories, right by his side. But it’s never been a thing Harry really noticed until now, until he’s licking cookie crumbs off his lips, watching Niall and Harry run an improv comedy activity with the usual fond smile he gets whenever Harry makes jokes, licking chocolate off his fingers at the campfires, laughing with Louis so his eyes shine with mischief then coaxing the shyer campers out of their shells in a way that makes Harry want to melt and hug him. He’s just always there, and Harry’s trying, he is, as best he can, but he’s just—he can’t be sure anything’s changing.

“Were you so bored up there in the middle of nowhere that you’re more into crafts now?” Zayn asks, as they clean up the lanyards from the after-lunch shift of kids in the cabin.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Harry gives Zayn his most innocent look, the one that’s never fooled him. “I’ve always been artsy.” And if he’s been helping out in the arts and crafts cabin more as an excuse to spend time with Zayn, that’s an added perk.

“Sure.” Zayn rolls his eyes, and whips some of the lanyards at Harry so he has to dodge them. “Is that what you call what you do in your moleskin?”

“Moleskins are hip,” Harry informs him, sticking out his tongue. They’re very hip. He knows, because no one last year had heard of them, basically, except for some of the really intense people with their dark skinny jeans and eyeliner and tattoos, the ones who had raised their eyebrows and rolled their eyes whenever Harry had tried to talk to them about the books they were reading.

“You’re such a hipster,” Zayn snorts, and arranges a coil of glittery blue lanyard on the table. The sunlight sinks into the ink on his arm. Those are the good sorts of tattoos, Harry thinks. Zayn and how no matter how cool he seems, he’s still a dork at heart. It makes Harry just feel so fond of him, sometimes. How he could be like any of those people who were horrible to Harry, and he isn’t.

“Am I the one with a blonde streak in my hair? Like, what’s her face, Black Widow?”

“Rogue, but good try.” Zayn snorts. “Stick to Robin Hood, babe.”

“Okay, Will Scarlet,” Harry retorts. Zayn just grins at him, and that’s enough of that conversation. “So,” Harry asks instead. He glances out the door, but no one’s here yet. “Do you know who you’re living with yet, for next year?”

“Yeah, we figured that out at the end of the semester.” Zayn smiles to think of it. “We’re still in dorms, ‘cause city prices, you know, but there are suites so a bunch of us can be in the same place. It’ll be chill. What about you?”

Harry could ask if there’s a place open, he knows, a place for him—could make an innuendo—but Zayn’s smiling, and the kids will be here soon. It’s not the time. “Still figuring it out,” he admits. There’s a room draw soon, for transfer students, if he doesn’t make other arrangements.

“Too many people vying to live with you?” Zayn teases, and picks up a knotted bit of cord to see if he can undo. He’s so casual about it, so sure, and it’s just—

“Why do you always do that?” Harry demands. He’s not angry, not quite, but Zayn’s just so sure, always, that Harry has it so easy. And it’s not. He might have thought so before, but it’s not now.

“Do what?”

“Assume everyone wants to live with me, or is in love with me, or whatever.” Harry pushes his hair back from his face for something to do with his hands. Zayn’s just looking at him blankly, like he doesn’t understand the question. “There are people who don’t like me.”

“Are there?” Zayn shrugs, and glances down at his hands. “I dunno, I just, like, I’ve never seen evidence of it.” Harry can’t see his expression well, but it looks like something twists. “Everyone’s always been in love with you, Haz. It’s not something they can help.”

“Not everyone,” Harry mutters. Not anyone at school, even the ones he had hooked up with. And not Zayn, who still isn’t looking at him, but who Harry just can’t quite tell if he’s looking at him differently.

Zayn looks up at that, though, and there’s something like concern on his face. “Did something happen?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to look at his hands. He doesn’t want to talk to Zayn about it, except for how Zayn’s the one person he wants to talk to about it, who might sort of understand. Who he wants to understand, because he wants Zayn to understand him even more, and wants to understand Zayn in turn. “Not really. It’s just…” he pauses, trying to figure out the best way to phrase it. “It was easier to make friends in high school.”

“Maybe for you.” Zayn’s still got his eyes narrowed at Harry, like he’s seeing into him, and suddenly Harry’s terrified he might not like what he sees. That he might think it’s lacking too.

“Doesn’t matter.” Harry grins, bright as he can. “So, more lanyards this time around? I think you’re the hipster here, that’s so nineties.”

“Yeah, but it’s fun and easy.” Zayn gives Harry one more long look, then goes back to arranging the lanyards. The kids should be along soon, Harry thinks. “Think if we tell Liam one’s from Sophia he’ll make a move?”

“I think that would just scare him,” Harry replies. If he ends up making Zayn a lanyard to match his tattoo during the next period, Zayn just grins and hands him one of green and blue in exchange. Which…could mean something, Harry thinks, as he pockets the keychain. Or it could be that Zayn’s made too many for himself and needed someone to give one to.

\---

“So, Zayn, you getting in?” Harry asks, stroking over to the edge of the dock. He loves the midnight swim days, even if it’s not properly midnight. But it’s fun to have everyone around the water, and the water’s so nice in the evening, like a nice crisp bath. The kids love it too, how it feels taboo. Most of Harry’s are splashing in the shallows, but there are enough counselors around for the ones that aren’t that Harry doesn’t feel bad not paying the closest attention to them as he zeroes in on Zayn.

“Nope.” Zayn shakes his head. He’s in trunks, but he’s never been the strongest swimmer, only just barely passing the necessary tests, so Harry’s not surprised he’s not in, preferring to sit on the edge of the dock with just his feet dangling.

“Come on, Zayn. It’s midnight swim! Everyone has to get in.”

“That a rule?” Zayn retorts, eying the water warily.

“Yes.” Niall plops down next to Zayn, shoves at his shoulder companionably. He’s nearly glowing, his skin’s so white in the dusk, despite how much time he’s been spending outside. “It is, Malik, so get in.”

“You get in,” Zayn shoots back, and Niall grins.

“If you insist. Move, Haz.”

Harry obediently moves a little out of the way, and Niall gets up, backs up a few feet, then gets a running start to launch himself off the dock, hitting the water with a huge splash. The kids around him laugh wildly, but Zayn jerks back like a cat threatened with a bath.

“Niall!”                                                                                 

Niall surfaces, laughing, and pushes his hair out of his eyes. “Come on in, Zayn, the water’s fine.”

“Doesn’t feel like it from up here,” Zayn says, crossing his arms. Niall rolls his eyes and dives back under, but that’s giving up too easily, Harry knows. Then again, Niall’s never been as good as Harry at getting Zayn in the water.

“Come on.” Harry puts his hands on the edge of the dock, then boosts himself up, his arms straining, so he can hang there. It’s worth the effort when Zayn’s gaze flicks to his arms, where he knows the muscles are probably bulging. “It feels nice. Don’t want to seem like a pussy in front of your kids, do you?”

“I can set them straight.” Zayn rubs his ear, though, and Harry knows he’s winning.

“Just for a bit. Come in with me,” Harry coaxes, making his eyes as wide and innocent as he knows how. Even if he’s not thinking innocent thoughts about how nice Zayn would look if he took off his t-shirt to get in, or how he wants to see Zayn wet as often as he can. “You can cool off.”

“You saying I smell?”

“You always smell good,” Harry assures him. It’s true. Even when he shouldn’t, when he’s been running around and sweating, it’s just hot. But he doesn’t want to come on too strong to say that. “But it feels really good. And you’ll be setting a good example.”

Zayn glances to the shore, where a group of kids of all ages, though mainly younger, are eying the water with apprehension.

“Zayn.” Harry has to swallow when Zayn turns to look at him, his eyes dark and fixed. “I won’t let anything happen.”

“Says the boy who dunked me last year.”

“You’ve pushed me in a thousand times!” Harry protests. He flutters his eyelashes. “Come on, Zaynie, gonna make me stay in here all alone? You’ll hurt a boy’s feelings like that.”

It gets hum a huff of breath and a sigh, and Harry grins in satisfaction. He knows he’s won, even before Zayn sits up, and strips off his t-shirt to toss it on the dock behind him.

It’s pretty distracting, the sight of Zayn without his shirt, the ink at his collar and his hips, like they’re marking places Harry wants to bite. He’s slimmed out since the last time Harry saw him without a shirt, lost some of his baby fat, so he’s all lean lines from his shoulders down to his hips, all sharp and crisp.

“So you won’t let me look like an idiot who can’t swim?” Zayn asks, his voice light with what Harry’s pretty sure is bravado.

“Not an idiot who can’t swim,” Harry retorts, and Zayn chuckles. He’s staring at the water like it’s going to rise up and bite him, like he used to sometimes look when his mum left him, when he got higher in trees than he wanted. Harry’s about to consider taking it back, because no matter how much he wants Zayn wet with him, wants Zayn to see where his new confidence can take him, he doesn’t want him really scared—but then Zayn’s scooting forward, so he can lower himself down with his arms.

Harry drops down quickly. It’s deep in front of the dock, deep enough that Harry has to tread water, and he knows Zayn knows that but he also knows that people who aren’t good at swimming tend to freak out when their feet don’t touch right away.

It’s not just because of that, though he’ll use it as an excuse if anyone asks, that Harry reaches up when Zayn’s most of the way in, so his hands are on Zayn’s waist, steadying him as he has to let go of the dock to drop the rest of the way. Like Harry thought, he tenses, his legs kicking out, but Harry holds him steady until he’s got his rhythm, his legs working in a not-very-efficient but workable way.

“There.” Harry grins, and doesn’t move his arms. He’s not holding Zayn up or anything, but Zayn’s skin feels smooth and slick beneath his hands, and he doesn’t really want to let go. And Zayn isn’t moving away. That has to mean something. “You’re fine.”

“Says you,” Zayn mutters. His hands clamp onto Harry’s shoulders. “I’m in the water, now can we go to where I can stand?”

“But it’s nice out here,” Harry argues. Out here, where it’s just the two of them. Where Zayn’s smiling wryly up at him, and not pulling away, and his skin’s wet and shimmering. Where Zayn had come to be with Harry, for Harry. To maybe admire how Harry’s muscles look wet, how his hair falls in front of his face.

“For those of us who are weirdos who like the water.”

“Hey!” Harry laughs. “You’re the weirdo who doesn’t.”

“It messes up my hair.”

“You aren’t even under yet,” Harry argues, “And it‘s not like your hair looks bad down.”

“We don’t all have your locks,” Zayn replies, and pushes at one of the strands in Harry’s face, tucking it aside. Harry can’t help his smile at that, like he can’t help his shiver as Zayn’s fingers brush across his forehead.

“Did you get Zayn in the water?” Louis demands, both him and Niall popping up next to Zayn. Harry jumps a little in surprise, which jerks Zayn to the side. Zayn’s hands grab onto Harry’s forearms, hard. “How’d you do that?”

“Why’re you surprised?” Niall asks. “Zayn always does what Harry wants.”

“That’s not true!” Zayn mutters. Harry can feel his euphoria dim a little. It’s not different, now. Harry’s always been good at getting Zayn to do what he wants, it’s not because his wooing’s working.

“The important thing,” Louis interrupts the impending argument, “Is that Zayn is in now. Or at least, most of the—”

“Don’t you—” Zayn warns, but it’s too late, Louis’s already lunged forward to get his hands on Zayn’s shoulders and push down, and Harry’s not prepared to stand against it so Zayn goes under. He pops up immediately, sputtering and glaring, his hair wet over his forehead. Harry doesn’t know what he was worrying about, honestly. He still looks good with his hair stuck to his forehead.

Louis laughs maniacally, and takes off backwards, back towards the shallows. “Get back here, Tommo!” Zayn demands, and he sets off doggedly after him. Louis cackles and kicks harder. Harry considers getting in the middle of it—he could probably catch Louis, he’s a stronger swimmer—but not even Zayn is worth that.

“Liam!” Zayn calls, as Louis nears where Liam’s talking with Sophia, apparently not noticing how she’s eyeing his very nicely cut chest. “Catch him!”

Liam’s arm snakes out without thinking, snagging Louis’s arm. “Zayn!” he cries, grinning. “You’re in.”

“Haz is very persuasive,” Zayn retorts, as Louis struggles in Liam’s hold.

“I bet he is,” Louis shoots back, trying to swim away, but Liam’s immovable. Sophia’s laughing, and the rest of the kids are watching as Zayn nears him, drawing himself up dangerously as he can stand. His shorts are hanging low on his hips, pulled down by the water, and Harry can’t help but notice the interesting dip in his back, right above his ass. “Jim!” Louis calls, as Zayn stalks nearer. “Where are my troops?”

One of Louis’s boys tries to go forward, but then Zayn’s are stopping him, and from there it all devolves into a lot of splashing.

“Think we should help?” Niall asks, paddling closer to Harry.

Zayn’s grinning wide, laughing as he splashes at Louis, who’s weighed down by the Malik-sized weight latched onto his legs. His skin is shimmering with the water and moonlight.

“Nah,” Harry says. “Nah, should probably just watch.”

\---

“Go, Mariah!” Harry yells, as runs down the pitch, keeping pace with Steven and the ball at his feet. Mariah’s right next to him, her little legs pumping fast and hard as she goes to goal. He glances around, but they’re ahead of most of the defense. Steven does a quick zag around Louis, then shoots the ball up to Mariah. Her eyes widen as she sees the ball coming, but then they narrow in concentration, and she stops the ball turns, and kicks.

The whole team holds their breaths as the ball rockets forward. The goalie, a fifteen year old Louis had put there to make things fairly even out on the field, lunges for the ball, but it’s going, going, going—

“Goal!” Harry yells. He runs forward to grab Mariah’s hands, spinning her around until she’s a mess of giggles. “Two-one!”

“There’s still three minutes left!” the goalie retorts, laughing as he gets to his feet, but Harry ignores him, spinning Mariah around one more time before letting the rest of the team attack her. He glances back to the rest of the field. Louis’s gathered his kids into a huddle at the sideline, giving them what looks like a pep talk, but Harry lets his congratulate each other as he jogs to the sideline.

“You want to play now?” he asks gently, to the girl who’s sitting there, her arms crossed over her chest. “If you don’t that’s fine, but I think you’ll have fun.”

She gives him a sulky look, but Harry knows how to read the worry underneath it. “I just,” she mutters, ducking her head. “I don’t want to make us lose.”

“That’s why it’s good we’re up!” Harry tells her cheerfully. “Go on, Sam. You’ll have fun! Promise.”

She sighs with all the world weariness of her eleven years, and gets to her feet. “Okay.”

“Great! Go where I was, I’ll take a break.” Harry shoos her off, then collapses onto the ground where she was, leaning back on his elbows.

“Nice assist.” Harry tilts his head back so he can look at Zayn upside down. He’d been trying not to notice Zayn, because he had a game to win, but it was hard not to when he was lounging on the grass watching them, his legs spread out with just enough room that Harry could fit between them.

“Thanks!” he grins back, dimpling. “What’re you doing here?”

Zayn shrugs. “No one else needed help, thought I’d see if you lot needed a cheerleader.”

“Pretty cheerleaders always help,” Harry agrees cheerfully, waggling his eyebrows. It’s a bit of a surprise, because Zayn usually guards his free time, spends it in his bunk with his books or comics, or calling home, but it’s not the first time Zayn’s come to the soccer field. Harry suspects he cares about it more than he claims. Or at least when it’s the kids playing, because he really is clueless when it comes to professional teams.

Zayn laughs, and runs a hand over his ear. Long as I’m not distracting.”

“I can’t promise that,” Harry tells him, smirking. He leans forward though, when Louis blows the whistle, and his team takes off again.

“Cal!” he yells, “Watch Cal! He’s open—Sam, go!”

Sam gives him a panicked look, but he nods and she runs in front of the boy who was waving his arms, cutting off their breakaway.

“Yes, good!” he cheers, as Cal tries to get away from her and she sticks with him. “Go, go!”

He keeps screaming for the next minute, somehow ends up on his feet to cheer his kids on, as Louis does the same from the opposite side of the field. But Louis’s team doesn’t have any hope this time; Harry’s keeps the lead for the next three minutes, then the whistle blows and Harry’s team lets out a cheer, and Harry turns his grin to Zayn, to see if he’s cheering properly.

Zayn’s chin jerks, and he’s looking at the kids now, but Harry thinks—well, he thinks he might have been looking at Harry. But he’s always looked at Harry, and he only gets a glimpse of it before Zayn’s grinning and whooping along with the kids.

“Okay, okay!” Louis calls, over their shouts. “Everyone to the center, shake hands.”

Harry leads his team over, shakes hands with Louis and smirks at him, then high fives each of Louis’s team and congratulates all of them, trying to remember specifics, because that always make it feel better.

“Okay, everyone!” Louis blows his whistle again, deafeningly close to Harry’s ear, probably on purpose. “Let’s go get cleaned up before dinner. March!” he gives Harry a pointed look, his gaze flicking over to where Zayn’s still lying back on the grass, all tempting and relaxed. “You can clean the balls, Harry.”

Zayn’s looking at them now, one eyebrow raised. Harry looks away, quickly, because he totally hasn’t been staring. “Louis!” he hisses.

“Maybe Zayn would help you with your balls,” Louis goes on, not bothering for deadpan. Harry glares. Zayn will hear, maybe. Even if he doesn’t, the kids will, and maybe Harry’s little ones won’t get it but there’s no mistaking what he’s talking about for the older kids. “You should ask.”

“You’re the worst,” Harry whines, but Zayn’s getting up and the kids are all starting to head back towards their cabins and Louis just trots away, laughing, and it looks like Harry doesn’t have a choice. He goes to gather the balls.

“Need a hand?” Zayn’s closer than Harry expected, and he really didn’t expect the hand on his hip, but he manages not to jump or shiver.

“I don’t know,” he teases, though, turning around with two balls in his arms. “Aren’t you allergic to sports?”

Zayn makes a face at him. “I’m not allergic,” he objects, stealing the ball nearest to Harry’s foot and bringing it into his legs to dribble slowly down the field, pacing Harry. “There are sweaty men tackling each other. What’s not to like?”

“There was no tackling today,” Harry points out. He dumps the balls in his arms into the bag at the sideline, then bends down to pick up the one Zayn was dribbling.

“Nah, but there were sweaty men.” Harry fumbles his grip on the ball. He needs to get a grip on himself, he tells himself sternly. The point is to woo, not to act like an idiot around Zayn, because Zayn already knows he can be an idiot and the point is to impress upon him that he’s not always.

“Yeah?” he asks. He’s not looking at Zayn as he says it, putting the last of the balls in the bag, but it counts. “You drop by for the eye candy?”

“Louis is fit, isn’t he?” Zayn retorts.

“Just Louis?” This time, Harry does look at Zayn, straightening quickly to hit him with full force puppy eyes—and he thinks, maybe, he sees Zayn’s gaze dart up from what could have been him checking out Harry’s ass.

“You—” Zayn tugs at his ear, then shakes his head. His voice is softer than Harry would have expected from their teasing as he goes on, “You know you’re hot, Harry. Don’t need me to tell you.”

“But it’s nice to hear you tell me.” Harry isn’t blushing. It would be silly for Harry to blush, because he does know—well, he knows girls think he’s cute, anyway. He knows some people like him, at least to hook up with. And Zayn’s told him he’s cute before, back when Zayn had just come out and Harry had been needing affirmation and Zayn had seemed like the logical person to ask, because he was attracted to guys and would be honest with Harry. He’d always confirmed it, if with a blush or a jutted chin like he was daring Harry to make a thing of it.

“Like you’ve ever needed the ego boost,” Zayn retorts. He grabs the bag of balls, throws it over his shoulder. It makes him hunch over a little, because the bag’s almost as big as he is. “Stop fishing.”

“It’s not fishing!” Harry protests. He trots on ahead, so that he can get to the shed first, and Zayn won’t have to carry the balls longer than he has to. He should have grabbed them, really. Shit. “Not if it’s the truth, right?”

“Yes, you’re the prettiest, most charming boy here.” It brings Harry up short, and he has to turn back to look at Zayn. At Zayn, who’s looking very distinctly at his feet. Maybe because he’s carrying a heavy bag on his back and has to—or maybe because there’s a hint of red to his cheeks?

“Really?” Harry asks. He tries to sound cool, suave, like he might have last year if Zayn had said that. Like he knew the answer, like he didn’t care if the answer was no because he didn’t care. But he thinks it just comes off as needy.

Zayn’s still looking at his feet. “’Course. I mean. I might be the prettiest, but we all know I’m not the most charming.”

Harry swallows. “I think you’re charming,” he says, with his cheekiest grin.

“Yeah, well. You think you’re funny, too,” Zayn retorts, looking up all at once. If he’s flushed, Harry can’t quite see it under his tan. “So I don’t know if we can trust your judgment.”

“Hey, I am funny!” Harry protests, and hurries to the shed. It doesn’t—well, it might mean something. But Zayn’s always been a flirt, with Harry most of all, complimenting him like that because it gets Harry to blush. It doesn’t mean anything.

Zayn dumps the bag of balls into the shed, then shuts the door. “Dinner?”

“Yeah. Well, I need to shower first, I reek.”

“You do,” Zayn agrees, and Harry laughs and shoves him. Zayn stumbles, grabs onto Harry’s arm to keep him standing.

“Hey!” Harry yelps, jerked over a step by the tug.

“You pushed me!” Zayn shoots back. He’s pulled himself close to Harry, hanging a lot of his weight off of Harry’s arm, and Harry’s never felt quite so aware of the heat of a hand as he is right now.

“Not hard!” Zayn’s got such pretty eyes. It’s hard to see anything else when he’s close to Zayn, just those big pretty eyes, all brown and gold, those eyelashes that seem almost unnaturally long and dark. Harry could spend hours staring into his eyes, trying to pick apart the colors, how they sparkle. Seeing if they’d change if Harry kissed him, if they’d go dark and fierce if Harry got his mouth on him, if they’d go cloudy if Harry really worked for it.

“I need to check on my boys.” Zayn’s a step away suddenly, his eyes no longer sparkling, and his hand’s gone from Harry’s. For the hundredth time, Harry wishes he could tell if Zayn really is blushing, or if it’s just the sun. “Um. Yeah. My boys. Go clean up.”

“I was trying to,” Harry complains, but Zayn’s walking quickly away, his hand on the back of his neck, and Harry has to scramble after him to catch up.

\---

“So, any progress?” Louis whispers to Harry at dinner. At least he’s keeping his voice low, but he’s looking really obviously at where Zayn’s sitting with his boys eating his pasta, slurping it off his fork in what’s really an unfair mode of eating for Harry’s libido. “Did you make out in the equipment shed? That’s always the dream.”

“No.” Harry pushes at his own pasta. “No making out. And the equipment shed’s not that great really, there are things everywhere and you know never know what’ll stab you.”

“Why not?” It’s loud enough that Liam glances over from where he’s talking with Sophia, but Harry shakes his head, then gives what he thinks is a subtle thumbs up that has Liam blushing when he turns back to her.

“Because, I didn’t know if he wanted it.” Harry stabs at a piece of broccoli, and stuffs it in his mouth. “We were—it could have been flirting? But it’s Zayn, we’ve always flirted.”

“So flirt with him more! Try a friendly grope. If he punches you, stop.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Louis.”

“Yeah, that could hurt, he’s mean.” Louis nods, like that’s the problem. “But seriously. What’s taking you so long? You’ve closed the deal three times over in this amount of time before.”

Harry runs a hand back through his hair. He should have put the bandana back on, but he’d forgotten it in his bunk, and he didn’t want to overuse it. “I don’t—I just want to be sure.” He doesn’t want to mess this up. He’s messed up so much recently, and here he can’t mess up. Not with camp, not with Zayn.

“You make things sure, right?” Louis punches him companionably on the shoulder. “That’s your superpower. Zayn and I decided, last summer. Liam’s is superstrength, Niall’s is flight, and you get everyone to like you. So use the force, young padawan!”

“Isn’t that mixing metaphors?”

“See, you’re up on your fandoms. He won’t be able to resist that. I can give you a Batman pick up line and you’re in.”

“It’s not that simple,” Harry protests.

“Is this about your shit last year?” Louis rolls his eyes. “You could just tell him you’ll be at school with him next year, see if he reacts to that.”

“No.” It comes out fast, maybe too fast, but Harry—he can’t. It’s not the right time, and he doesn’t want to push Zayn into anything, and he doesn’t—he just can’t. He knows who he is here, at TXF, during the summers, knows who Zayn is. He can’t bring in next year, when he can’t be sure Zayn will even want him now.

“Then I think a Batman pick up line is your best bet. Or a Robin Hood one, for you too, right? That’s your thing. Ask him if wants to see your quarterstaff.”

Harry snorts out a laugh, and pushes at Louis. Somehow, it ends with him falling off the bench, and Louis and everyone else who saw laughing at him, and Harry jumps up to sweep a bow. As he straightens, he catches Zayn’s eye. He’s watching him with the little smile on his face he always gets when Harry and Louis are being loud. Harry’s stomach flips, a little. He just—he wants Zayn to look at him like that all the time. To know that it’s just him he’s looking at.

\---

“No, Barry, you’ve got to turn your oar.” Harry leans over the edge of the canoe so he can adjust Barry’s oar to the right angle, and rolls his eyes when Zayn grabs onto the edge, counter-balancing them. “Yeah, good.”

“It would be good if you didn’t rock the boat,” Zayn snaps, but Harry knows him, and he knows he’s not really angry. He’d agreed to come out on the canoes during one of his free activity slots after all, had succumbed to Harry’s puppy dog eyes, and overall he looks pretty content, perched on his seat in jeans and a white Henley that Harry’s been trying very nobly not to splash, with his sunglasses perched on the top of his head.

“You’re rocking the boat,” Harry shoots back, sticking out his tongue. “Come on, I want to make sure James is doing well.”

Zayn lets out a long huff, but he sticks his oar in too, and together they paddle forward. They work well together, Harry has to think, as he steers them carefully around the other canoes on the lake. And it’s not experience, because Zayn rarely goes in the water at all, and barely ever out on the canoes, so it’s not like they’ve spent a lot of time in the canoe together, like Louis and Harry have. They’re just in sync.

Harry glances back to see if Zayn’s noticed, but Zayn’s biting his lip in great concentration as he rows, like it’s taking all his energy to do it. He probably isn’t noticing anything.

They pull up next to where James and an older girl are rowing along. James’s expression is very similar to Zayn’s, Harry doesn’t point out. But it’s cute.

“How’s it going?” he asks, poking at the side of their canoe very gently with his oar.

“It’s good!” James is grinning. “I’m steering. I get to decide where we go!”

“And we’ve hardly bumped into anything,” Laura adds, with a fond smile. She’s one of Sophia’s, Harry thinks; one of the ones who’s clearly coming back to be a counselor next year. When Zayn’s not here. Which Harry isn’t thinking about. “He’s doing really well.”

“Wish I could say the same for this one,” Harry teases, point back at Zayn. “But he’s a mess still.”

“I didn’t even want to be out here,” Zayn announces calmly. He’s rested his oar over his legs, so he can hold onto the edges of the canoe with hands that aren’t quite white knuckled.

“But it’s so nice!” Harry protests, as James laughs gleefully. “The sun and the water and of course, my company.” He flutters his eyelashes at Zayn, which gets a laugh out of Laura too. He’s always been good with teenaged girls.

Zayn looks at him for a second, then back down at the water. “I’m only here for James,” he says, with a quick smile at the boy. “You can go away.”

“Zaaayn,” Harry whines, and shifts his weight back and forth, so the canoe rocks.

“Haz.” It’s Zayn’s firm voice, so Harry stops, grinning.

“He loves me really,” he assures James and Laura, who seem more amused than anything. “Come on, Zayn. Let’s make the rounds.”

“Or we could just sit here,” Zayn mutters, but he lets Harry steer them away, both their oars moving through the water. All the kids are getting it pretty well, Harry thinks, looking around, though it’s not most of their first times out here. And they seemed to be paired up well, which is definitely a blessing; there’s nothing worse than a fight in a canoe.

“Zayn.” Zayn’s oar flicks in surprise, throwing a wave of water up at Harry. Harry’s still shaking the water out of his hair when Casper’s boat, with one of Mel’s girls in front, bumps up next to them. “Want some advice?”

Zayn makes another face, but he lets out a sigh. “Yeah, sure. Hit me.”

“Nah, you’re doing well.” Casper grins. He’s looking very good too, Harry notices, in a tank top and athletic shorts that show off a golden tan that Harry knows is natural. He looks like one of the guys Harry saw at the frat parties he went to in an effort to stop Dave from hating him before he realized that just wasn’t happening, except Harry knows he’s nice too. Nice, and he’s leaning over, carefully so as not to overbalance, so he can put his hands on Zayn’s arm. “Just, if you use your back more, you’ll get more power.”

“That’s something,” Zayn replies. He’s not shrugging Casper’s hand off. They’d joked about that before, always had a little, how Zayn was Casper’s favorite, and Harry had figured it was teasing, but what if it wasn’t? Casper wasn’t anything like Jared, and Zayn’s older now, both of them in college, and Zayn shows it, too. And Harry doesn’t usually back away from competition, but—but Casper’s older and he’s the one who sort of helped Zayn through being out and everyone really does love him, he probably didn’t have to transfer because he couldn’t make friends.

“Yeah, better.” Casper’s watching Zayn’s back, and Harry knows it’s just because he’s giving him perfectly valid advice, but it stings. Harry’s been trying for a week and he can’t tell if it’s working, he doesn’t know what will happen if Casper tries to step in. Or is even just there, in comparison, everything Harry thought he was but might not be. “Good job.”

“Don’t you know how to do this? You’re a counselor,” the girl—Jessica—asks, with big eyes.

“You never stop learning,” Harry tells her solemnly. “Even when you’re a grown up.”

“And I’m not a grown up yet,” Zayn puts in with a grin and a silly face. “I bet you know more than me.”

“No!” she laughs, falling back a little so Casper has to push her upright. “No, you know loads.”

“So this is how you row?” Zayn asks, flipping the paddle over. It splashes Harry again, but Zayn’s grinning and so is Jessica.

“It looks right to me,” Casper agrees, nodding.

“Definitely!” Harry feels like he needs to say something.

“No!” she shrieks, shaking her head, “No, the other way.”

“Oh, of course,” Zayn agrees, and rotates the paddle horizontally. “This is how you go. Come on, Harry. Away!”

“Yes sir!” Harry takes a bigger pull, to make up for the fact that Zayn’s not doing anything with his paddle like that. It takes them out, more into the center of the lake, a little away from the kids.

It is nice out, out here, with the sun hot on Harry’s bare shoulders and a light wind keeping them from overheating. With the kids’ laughter and yells as what looks like a race starts up floating out across the water, and the even further shouts of some of the kids playing on the shore. Harry picks up his paddle so they can drift, turning around on the seat. Casper can look after the kids for a while.

Zayn’s paddle’s over his lap too, and he isn’t even clutching at the sides. He’s not looking at the water, but that just means he’s looking at Harry, so Harry can’t really worry about that.

“So,” Harry asks, before he can stop himself, “Casper? That a thing?”

“What?” Zayn’s surprise is obvious. “Casper?”

“Yeah, I mean.” Harry does at least remember to keep his voice down, mindful of how it would carry. He knows it’s probably nothing, but—but what if it isn’t? Zayn’s always been cool, for all he’s a dork too. He could get someone older, like Casper. Deserves someone like that. “With the whole—touching thing.”

“What?” Zayn shakes his head, looking down at his oar. “Don’t be stupid, Haz. He’s old.”

“He’s only a few years older than us,” Harry points out. He shouldn’t be doing this, he should be telling Zayn that yes he’s so old, but he wants Zayn to make the best choice, or he wants Zayn with the person best for him, or something. And he does. He just wants it to be him. Or to make Zayn think it’s him, at least.

“Well, he’s always felt old. And he like, mentored me. That’s gross.”

“It’s not unheard of,” Harry argues. “You could have been nursing a crush on him this whole time, and now you look older and even hotter and maybe he’d be thinking about you in a different way.”

Zayn’s face does—something. He’s never been able to hide his expressions, not really, and so the emotion is clear going over it, Harry just doesn’t know what it means, how it all wrinkles. “I don’t have a crush on Casper.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” Harry doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore. Why is he saying this? “He’s hot, and you’ve always been his favorite, and—”

“It’s not Casper, okay!” Zayn snaps. “Just leave it alone, Harry.”

“Fine,” Harry snaps back. Fine. He’ll leave it alone. He doesn’t want to know anyway, doesn’t want to hear about whoever Zayn does have a crush on. It’s probably someone at school, someone cool and hip and urban. Like Harry could have been, if he’d made the right decision last year. But Harry will be there this year, he can measure up. Probably.

He takes a long, slow breath, like in the yoga his mom does sometimes, and tilts his head back to look up at the sun. He’s feeling better after a few more long breaths, more even. It’s hard not to be, with the sun sinking into his body.

He opens his eyes to see Zayn smiling at him. It’s a nice smile, soft and fond, like he’s happy Harry’s happy again, but it’s not different. He wants it to be different, to have changed now that Harry’s been making an effort to woo him, but he’s still looking at Harry the same way. It sucks. Harry’s been charming, he’s been doing everything right, he doesn’t get it.

“What’s up?” Zayn asks, poking at him with his toe.

“Hm?”

“You’ve got your thinking face on.” Zayn makes an exaggerated face. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Oh, yeah, I know you find that hard.”

“Shut up,” Harry retorts, but he laughs too. At least they aren’t fighting again. “Just, like.” It’s hard to ask, but it’s different than it was with Louis. Zayn always, always answers his questions, even when they were kids and Zayn was the only one of them who liked to read and so Harry was convinced he knew everything. “Do you think college changed us?”

“Yeah.” It comes immediately, but Zayn’s got his own thoughtful look on. He always gives Harry’s questions thought, in a way no one else does. How hadn’t Harry noticed how much he loved that? “I mean, like. It changed me, for sure. And I think it changed you.”

“How?” Harry doesn’t know what he wants him to say—if he wants him to understand, to know what it had been like. Or if he wants Zayn not to see that, to still think of Harry as he was, so sure everyone would always love him. He wants both, he thinks, but he knows he can’t have that.

Zayn gives him a long look. “Well…” Then he carefully reaches out, tugs on Harry’s hair. “Your hair’s longer, for one.”

“Zaaayn,” Harry whines. That’s not what he meant, and Zayn knew it.

“And you haven’t hooked up with anyone yet, that’s different.”

“There’s still time,” Harry retorts. Like, this time. Right now.

Zayn makes a face, then settles back on his bench. “No, like. You have changed, though. Dunno exactly the word for it. But you’re different. Quieter, maybe?” he shakes his head. “But that’s not quite right.” He shrugs. “I mean, we aren’t kids anymore, really. Like, we’re growing up, and it’s changing us?”

Suddenly, Harry really doesn’t want to be having this conversation anymore. He doesn’t want to hear about how they’re outgrowing this place. He doesn’t want Zayn to pick apart how he’s changed. If he’s going to get to kiss Zayn, Zayn will need to think of him as amazing still. Amazing and confident and ready to do anything. “Well, there’s the thing about getting off with all genders,” he points out, and sits up straighter.

“That too,” Zayn agrees. There’s a cheer from the part of the lake where the kids are racing, as Casper paddles over to break up what looks like some sort of joust in progress. “Did we do anything that stupid?”

“You didn’t,” Harry informs him, “Or not on canoes.”

“Fine. Did you?” He lets out a breath, rubbing at his ear. “Seems dangerous.”

“More dangerous than when you and Louis and Liam went on a search for Bigfoot?” Harry retorts, and Zayn laughs. “But I mean. We used to have contests about who could stand up the longest.”

“You stood up in these things?”

“Sure.” Harry grins, remembering. “The trick was standing up when everyone else was poking you with oars.”

“Fuck.” Zayn shakes his head. He’d never been out here with them really, probably reading on shore or something. It’s why Harry’d been so happy he’d gotten him out here. It felt like a success, something only he could do. “I guess, like, your center of gravity was lower then.”

“Bet I could do it now.” He doesn’t entirely think about it before he says it, but he can. He has to, because if he can he can be that person again, and he’ll be fearless and sure, and then maybe he’ll be able to win over Zayn.

“What? Haz, what the fuck?” Zayn’s eyes widen as Harry sets his oar in the boat, and draws his feet carefully under him. “The kids are watching!”

“No they aren’t. And we’ll tell them they can’t do this until they’re counselors.” Harry goes slower than he would have years ago, easing himself up with his legs spread.

“That doesn’t—you’ll tip us!”

“No I won’t.” Harry straightens, and gives a gleeful laugh as he gets to his full height. He’s got it, he’s standing, he’s managed it. He can imagine Zayn’s looking at him with admiration rather than worry, and he’s got it, he’s up, he can do it still. “Zayn, I—”

“Harry!” A voice calls, and Harry turns instinctively.

It wouldn’t have happened if Harry had slightly better balance, or Zayn was less stiff and more ready to counterbalance him, or if Harry had turned more gracefully. But none of those were true, and so Harry turned too fast towards Casper’s yell, and that overbalances him so the boat starts to rock as he tries to maintain his balance, and Zayn clutches for the sides to try to stay upright which only throws them off more, and then the canoe is flipping and Harry hits the water with a splash that probably reached shore.

The water’s cold, but pleasantly so after the warm sun, and Harry’s had time to brace so he’s not much surprised, and he comes up laughing, shaking his hair out of his face and rubbing at his eyes.

“I still stood up!” he announces, triumphantly, as Zayn surfaces next to him. “I did it!”

But Zayn’s arms are flailing, and the glimpse Harry gets of his eyes are wide and panicked, and fuck, Harry hadn’t even thought—Zayn’s not a good swimmer, and he’s in jeans and they’re dragging him down. Harry grabs for him, wrapping an arm around his waist, and he knows that’s absolutely the wrong thing to do when someone’s panicking in the water but he doesn’t care. It works, anyway—Zayn latches onto his arm with a vice-like grip, but he stops flailing, and clearly gets his legs under him.

“You good?” Harry asks, trying not to laugh. Not at Zayn, just at how this feels like he’s twelve again, sure he can get away with anything.

“No,” Zayn spits. His hair’s matted down over his face, and he looks a bit like a cat thrown into water, but he doesn’t let go of Harry. “I told you not to fucking stand up!”

“Zayn,” Harry starts. He’s mad. He’s really mad, the way he so rarely gets with Harry, glaring hard. “Zayn, it’s just—”

“I liked those sunglasses!”

“Everything good?” Casper’s canoe comes up smoothly next to them. “You all okay?”

“No,” Zayn snaps. He lets go of Harry to pull himself slowly over to the canoe, grabbing onto the end. “Someone was a fucking idiot and tipped us over.”

“Language,” Casper says, mildly, flicking his eyes at Jessica. “Not injured, though?”

“It was just a fall out of a canoe.” Harry rolls his eyes, then goes over to the canoe as well. “Zayn, you good getting back in?”

“Yes.” He’s still glaring, so Harry tries hard not to laugh as he pulls himself up and in, Casper steadying the other side. He supposes there’s no way to look good doing that, though Zayn almost does.

Harry follows suit, and then he squelches back into his seat. His hair’s sopping wet, falling into his eyes, and it’s nice, really, to counteract the heat. Zayn looks much less pleased, though he makes soaking wet, as everything, look good, his hair straightened by the water, sending droplets down his neck and making his skin glisten, his now see-through white shirt sticking to his skin.

Zayn must catch Harry looking, because he snorts and turns away. “I need to get dry,” he announces, talking very clearly to Casper. “I’m free technically, I’m going back.”

“Okay.” Casper’s also trying not to grin. “Wouldn’t want to catch cold.”

“Jessica, cover your eyes,” Zayn orders, and when she obediently does he flips Casper off.

The row back to shore is silent and awkward, like silences with Zayn so rarely are. But despite the heat, Harry can feel the ice Zayn’s giving off. He hadn’t meant to tip them over, though, and he’d just forgotten Zayn didn’t like the water. It wasn’t his fault. Except it sort of was. Of course he’d mess up the nice afternoon they were having. He’d felt on top of the world just then, but really he was just being stupid and naïve, assuming he could do what he want and people, and Zayn, would like it. He should have known better.

“What happened?” James asks as they row past him, his eyes blinking wide and round.

Harry manages a laugh, even though Zayn stays silent and stoic behind him. “This is why you don’t stand up in canoes,” he tells James, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Zayn snorts again, not like he’s amused.

Zayn jumps out of the canoe as soon as they get to shore. He looks really horribly uncomfortable, though really, he shouldn’t have worn jeans canoeing. But he’s so mad and Harry knows how Zayn works, how the longer he stews the madder he gets.

“Casper!” he calls from shore. Casper looks up. “Can I—” He gestures at Zayn’s already retreating back. “Are you okay?”

He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but there’s only like ten more minutes of activities and not too many kids and he needs to talk to Zayn.

Casper sighs. “Go ahead!” he calls back. Harry gives him a grin he hopes is big enough that Casper can see it from shore, and scrambles after Zayn.

Zayn’s moving fast, but Harry catches up to him by the time he’s back at the cabins. No one’s there, everyone still in activities, and it’s always weird to see it so deserted, but it’s probably good because he knows Zayn is going to yell.

“Zayn!”

Zayn ignores him, his back stiff as he stomps towards his cabin. Harry breaks into a jog so he can catch him. “Zayn, I’m sorry, it was just a joke.”

Zayn huffs out a breath, and yanks the door to his cabin open. It’s not the time to be noticing how good his back looks, but it’s hard not to, with his shirt sticking to it.

Harry debates hesitating at the door, but he’s been coaxing Zayn into better moods for ten years, he knows not to do that, not yet. And Zayn doesn’t slam the door in his face, so he doesn’t really need space. When he needs space, he just ignores you.

The cabin’s a bit of a mess, because there are ten boys living there and Zayn, who’s never been very neat. It’s clear where Zayn’s bed is, though, because it has a sketchbook, a comic book, and _The Crying of Lot 49_ open on it, and a picture of his family next to it. Also, because Zayn’s stalking towards it.

“Zayn, come on. It’s just water. You’re fine.”

“I liked those sunglasses,” Zayn snaps, and Harry grins to himself. Zayn’s talking to him. That means he’ll be able to get Zayn to forgive him, because Zayn always forgives him when he starts talking to him again. “And that was a stupid thing to do.”

“We’re fine though!” Harry spreads his arms, like he’s showing it, but it only results in him dripping more on the floor. He moves into the center of the room a little, so he doesn’t drip on anything important. “I’ve fallen in the lake a hundred times, it’s always fine.”

“You can swim.”

“So can you.” Harry gives him his most winning smile. It works on Zayn, it has to work on him. It’s Harry’s only weapon. “And I’d have made sure you were fine.”

“Then you shouldn’t have made me fall in.”

“We wouldn’t have fallen in if you could have balanced,” Harry retorts, then takes a deep breath. “Don’t be mad, Zee.” He flutters his eyelashes as ridiculously as possible, and pouts so Zayn has to look at his lips.

“I liked those sunglasses,” Zayn repeats, but his lips are twitching. Harry knew he could cheer him up. He might actually get mad at Harry, not like Liam or Niall, but he never stays mad.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” Harry promises.

“They were Gucci, then,” Zayn says, and he’s definitely not mad anymore, if he’s joking. Harry grins, but it feels more like a sigh of relief. Even before this whole crush thing, he’s always hated it when Zayn was mad at him. When anyone’s mad at him, but especially Zayn.

“One pair, coming up.” Harry nods, trying to channel Liam’s earnestness, and it must work because Zayn snorts and shakes his head, before he reaches down to the hem of his shirt.

He gets it up to his belly button, and Harry can see the ink at his hip, before he pauses, and gives Harry a look that isn’t entirely joking. “Gonna let me preserve my modesty?”

Harry blinks. It hadn’t even occurred to him. They’ve always just stripped off in front of each other. But maybe it’s different for Zayn, knowing Harry’s interested in guys?

Still, Harry just smirks, and crosses his arms. “Nah, carry on. I like the show.”

“Haz.” Zayn’s shifting, a little awkward, and he’s never been awkward before. Like he cares that Harry is looking at him.

“Zayn.” Harry mimics. “Don’t hold back on my account. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Fine.” Zayn takes a breath, and it really isn’t anything Harry hasn’t seen before, he knows, but it feels like it is, when Zayn yanks his shirt off like it’s a statement and throws it onto his laundry pile. It feels different, in this cabin where no one will come interrupt them, with Zayn’s waterlogged jeans pulled down to the jut of his hipbone and water shimmering on his bare skin, running from his hair down his neck over his collarbone then down his ribs.

“Haz?” It’s a question this time, probably because Harry’s staring, he knows he is. When he forces his eyes up to Zayn’s face, there’s a tint there that Harry can almost imagine is a blush.

Harry shrugs, gives a smile that he doesn’t think is as casual as he wants it to be. “You look good wet.”

“Oh.” Zayn blinks, slow and surprised, and Harry may be staring but it means he sees when Zayn’s gaze flicks up and down his body. “You, like, you too, yeah?”

Harry’d almost forgotten he was soaked through, but he is, even if his trunks are drying off faster than Zayn’s jeans. And he does look good wet, and Zayn is definitely looking.

Harry takes a deep breath. They’re alone, who knows when that will happen again. They’re along, and Zayn is looking, and he’s thinking about Harry looking at him, and Harry does look good wet, and he can do this. People like him. Zayn likes him. And people like to look at him, think he’s pretty. And he doesn’t—there’s only three weeks left of camp, and who knows what school will be like, who Zayn has there, and Harry needs to do this soon. Do this now.

He takes a step forward, trying for a saunter. “You think so?”

Zayn stands his ground, meeting Harry’s eyes so squarely it feels like a challenge. “You’re hot, Harry. You know that.”

“Yeah, but. Do you think I look good?” Harry clarifies. He’s close enough to Zayn now that he could touch him, if he wanted to, if he dared.

“What? I mean. Yeah. You’re nice to look at. Haz, what…” Zayn trails off. He has to look up just a little to look at Harry now, Harry realizes. It’s weird. Zayn’s always been taller than him, but one of the few good things that came out of last year was the last bit of a growth spurt. Now Zayn’s just a little shorter, and he’s licking his lips in what Harry knows has always been a nervous tic but it could be different this time. His eyes are wide, almost scared, but Harry knows he’s been here before, done this with other guys, so maybe it’s just confusion.

“I think you look good too.” Zayn hasn’t moved away even though there’s enough room for him to back up before he hits the bed, so Harry steels himself, and takes a chance, putting a hand on Zayn’s waist. Bare waist. Zayn should be cold from the lake water, but the touch feels hot, even though Harry can feel Zayn shiver. “Zayn, can I…”

Harry can see Zayn’s Adam’s apple bobs, but he nods. “You want—yeah, Har—”

Harry doesn’t let him get out the end of the sentence. He kisses him instead, a quick fast peck to the lips. They’ve always been touchy, but that’s one barrier they’ve never crossed, not for all the handsiness and hugging they do. It’s a declaration, Harry thinks, his heart beating too fast, from adrenaline and nerves and the feel of Zayn’s lips.

Zayn’s very, very still, as Harry watches him, except for his hand twitching like he wants to press it to his lips, or maybe to Harry, or maybe shove Harry away. “Good?” Harry asks, anxiously. There’s still time to play it off as a joke.

Zayn still has that look in his eyes, and Harry can feel him shaking, just a bit. Then Zayn’s lips curve, and Harry’s heart is going too fast for a different reason. “I don’t know, not much to, like judge on, yeah? Heard you were this awesome kisser.” His voice is a little unsteady for teasing,

“I am!” Harry protests, and this time he doesn’t do anything fast or peckish. He kisses Zayn long and hard, one hand on Zayn’s waist to keep him close. And then Zayn’s kissing him back, and fuck, Harry knew he was right about this. He doesn’t know if it’s because it’s them or Zayn’s just a really amazing kisser, but it’s amazing. Zayn’s hands are in his hair, pulling him in, and their lips are moving together and Zayn nips at Harry’s lip to get him to open his mouth and Harry can’t help his moan, because Zayn’s still a little wet under his hands and he’s kissing him like he’s desperate for it and he’s pulling Harry’s hair just right.

He presses forward to get closer, but Zayn must not have been expecting it because they’re stumbling backwards, Zayn’s knees hitting the bed and him ending up on his back, and Harry following him down. Zayn doesn’t let go even as he hits the bed, though, and Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever let go, not when Zayn’s squirming under him and his hand’s moved from Harry’s hair down to his back, stroking over the muscles there, and Zayn’s lips are a little chapped but wet and full and he’s so good with them, Harry’s moaning before he remembers he’s good at kissing too and sets about showing Zayn that. It must work, too, because Zayn’s hand tightens in his hair and his hips jerk against Harry’s thigh.

“Harry,” Zayn mumbles, as his lips move down to Harry’s neck, then back to his mouth. God, he’s good at this, and it’s like he’s as desperate as Harry is, like he’s been wanting this too. “Fuck, Haz, I can’t, you—”

“Zayn!” comes the yell, suddenly, and the door bangs open. Zayn and Harry both freeze, Zayn’s hand still digging in to Harry’s shoulder. “Zayn, Casper said you fell in the lake, you—” Liam comes to halt in the doorway, when he sees what’s happening. “Oh. Um.”

“Um what?” Niall pops up behind him. “Oh, fucking shit!”

“What!” Louis ducks under Liam’s arm. “Oh.”

Zayn lets go of Harry’s hair and thumped back on the bed, his eyes closing in his ‘who even are my friends?’ expression that Harry’s rather familiar with. Harry, reluctantly, lets go of Zayn too, lifts himself up so he can properly look at his friends. Glare, hopefully, because he is not happy with them right now.

“Are we interrupting something, boys?” Louis drawls, grinning dangerously.

“Yes,” Harry retorts, as Zayn snaps,

“Yes, now go away.”

“I do believe Zayn isn’t wearing a shirt!” Louis goes on. He’s fucking delighted, and Harry has never wanted to strangle him more. “It’s a good thing we were the first ones in here, lads. Who knows what the innocent young eyes might have seen. Actually, Nialler, cover your eyes.”

“Fuck off,” Niall retorts. “Shouldn’t you be more surprised?”

“I know all, you know that.”

“I don’t. How long has this been going on?”

“Okay.” Liam gets a hand on Louis’s arm, and tugs him backwards. “Let’s give them a second.” He presses his lips together. “But, um. The kids are out of activities.” He backs out of the cabin, dragging Louis with him. Niall follows after, his brow furrowed as he thinks, but he shuts the door behind him.

And then it’s just Zayn and Harry.


	3. Chapter 3

“I should get a shirt on, if the kids are coming back,” Zayn points out. Harry personally would rather he never put a shirt on ever, and stay like this on his bed with his lips kiss swollen and his hair messy and his gaze a little hazy and just as pretty with it as Harry had imagined, but he supposes Zayn has a point, and also he can’t entirely read the look on his face, so he rolls off of him, so he can sit on the bed and let Zayn up.

Zayn goes over to his suitcase, bends down. His muscles are all tense, Harry can see, but he definitely didn’t push Harry away. That was a very voluntary kiss.

“So,” Zayn says, loud enough Harry can hear but still pawing through his bag. “Was that, I mean, you didn’t—were you just so overwhelmed by how I look wet you had to kiss me?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers, honestly. Zayn stops with his head halfway into a new t-shirt. He turns around as he pulls the shirt down the rest of the way, so he’s facing Harry as his head pops out.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, because that is what happened, more or less. “You’re—you know what you look like, Zayn.”

“Never seemed to matter to you before,” Zayn mutters, but before Harry can reply to that, he’s going on, “So, no pressure, whichever—I know what you do, so, like, this was just a spur of the moment thing? One time?”

“Not if you don’t want it to be?” Harry cards his fingers through his hair. He almost wishes Zayn weren’t looking at him right now, because Zayn’s looks are always so intense, so focused, and he still can’t see much difference from a year ago. But he knows Zayn was into that kiss. And it doesn’t look like he’s objecting now. “I’d like to do it again. If you wanted.”

He watches, anxious, for Zayn’s expression—then Zayn’s lips are curving into a grin, a slow almost shy but delighted smile that sprouts over his face, and Harry grins back, big as his face.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, rubbing at his ear. “Yeah, that’d be—yeah.”

“Good!” Harry jumps to his feet, and does something that’s supposed to be a cool walk towards Zayn, but he trips over a stray copy of Joan Didion and ends up flailing until Zayn catches him and sets him upright. “We can start now?” he suggests, because he’s never one to give up a convenient moment of closeness.  God, he hasn’t felt this good for a year, he thinks. Not even getting into college again was this good, because that’s tainted with failure, and this is just Zayn, and how Zayn’s smile is setting off butterflies in his stomach.

Zayn laughs, that smile still in his eyes, and ruffles Harry’s hair. “The kids are going to be back soon,” he points out, “And also Louis’ll probably break in sooner.”

Harry sighs. “Fine.” He leads the way towards the door, then pulls it open.

Louis, Liam, and Niall are all sitting on the steps outside the cabin. When the door opens, all three of their heads turn as one.

“Well?” Niall asks.

“Harry tipped our canoe over and we fell in the lake, and he owes me a new pair of sunglasses,” Zayn announces, walking quickly like he’s trying to get past them.

“I don’t think making out counts as a new pair of sunglasses,” Liam points out. He’s got his concerned face on.

“Maybe not the way you do it.” Harry grins at him. His concerned face can go away. All faces can go away, because he gets to kiss Zayn now. “Dinner?”

“Yeah!” Niall jumps to his feet. “We can—”

“Harry!” comes a call from down the path. Harry looks over—and sees Mel holding a sobbing Robbie in her arms, his blonde hair falling into his face.

“Duty calls.” Harry makes a face, and tries to focus it on Zayn, so he gets that it means ‘I wish I could come to dinner with you now and suck your face off some more.’ He’s not sure Zayn gets it, but he must get something, because he smiles, a little shyly, and then Harry really does have to run.

\---

There’s a seat open next to Zayn at dinner. Harry doesn’t know who arranged it, or if it was just coincidence, but he takes it. Zayn gives him a quick look and a smile as he sits down, shy like they weren’t just making out, then goes back to his dinner. Harry edges closer, so their elbows are knocking.

“Did they already grill you?” Harry leans in to whisper. No one else seems to be paying attention, even if Liam shoots him a quick sidelong glance before going back to talking with Sophia. They’re sitting very similarly to how Harry and Zayn are, he can’t help but notice happily.

“Nah, like. What’s to grill?” Zayn shrugs, and takes a bite of his french fry. Harry should probably not be turned on by him eating. “I told them all there is.”

“Hopefully not all,” Harry retorts, leering. For good measure, in case Zayn doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he puts a hand on his thigh under the table. None of the kids can see it, it’s fine.

Zayn ducks his head a little, but he’s grinning, and he doesn’t do anything to make Harry move his hand. His leg’s a little tense under Harry’s hand, like he’s trying not to let it shake. “So, like, you were—”

“Canoodling!” Niall’s voice cuts him off. “They’ve started canoodling.”

“We were having a conversation,” Zayn retorts, but it’s too late—Louis’s turned away from his conversation with Mel, and Vanessa’s looked over, her eyebrows going up as she sees them a little too close.

“So this is new,” she drawls, leaning around Louis to grab a breadstick. “Right?” she demands, and Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s new. Sorry I don’t give you hourly reports on my life.”

“You should be. And about this is especially,” she stresses. By the way Zayn winces, he thinks she kicks him.

“Yeah, we need to be kept updated on all gossip,” Louis adds. “Is anyone else hooking up and not telling us?” he turns to look pointedly at Liam and Sophia.

“You would be the last person to know if I hooked up with someone,” Sophia informs him. Liam’s bright red. It’s pretty funny, especially because it’s gotten the attention off of them.

Attention successfully stays off of them for the rest of dinner. Harry does, unfortunately, have to let go of Zayn after, to gather up his boys and make sure they’re all set for the free period after dinner. His fall’s big news there, with James telling all the others about how he’d stood all the way up.

“Yeah,” Harry adds, before anyone gets any ideas. “But then I fell in. So if you don’t want to fall in, you shouldn’t stand up.”

“Zayn fell in and he didn’t even stand up,” James points out.

“He would have stood up!” Malik protests. He juts out his chin. “He probably just didn’t have a chance.”

“Would he?” They both look towards Harry.

“Um.” Harry’s definitely not been thrown back into a fugue state of thinking about how Zayn had looked with his shirt soaked through, how it had felt to have him holding onto him in the water. “He probably could have,” he agrees with Malik, because it’s Zayn, he probably could. “But he knew better than to stand up in canoes. Because you shouldn’t do that.”

“Is it fun?”

Harry grins. He can’t help it. “Yeah, it is. But not til you’re older.”

“All the fun things happen when you’re older,” Malik whines, jumping off the bed at the sound of people gathering outside for the bonfire. “It’s not fair.”

“You’ve got no idea,” Harry agrees, and ruffles Malik’s hair. “Come on, let’s go get s’mores.”

That distracts them well enough, and Harry leads the charge out towards the fires. They’re one of the first cabins out, but Liam, Casper, and Paul are still working on getting the fires started, so Harry starts them off with a brisk game of duck duck goose to get the energy out. Mel’s girls join when they get there, and by the time it’s declared over everyone’s out.

Which means….Harry looks around. His boys are all occupied. Louis discussing something with two of his boys that Harry thinks has something to do with s’mores, given how he’s waving the stick around; Niall’s deep in conversation with Sophia and Monique. Most of the counselors are out here, except…

He finally catches sight of Zayn with Liam sitting on the other side of the fire. They’re pressed close, sharing a log, and Liam’s talking at Zayn intently, with his most concerned face on. Zayn doesn’t look worried back, but he looks stubborn, like he gets when he digs his heels in no matter if it’s a good or bad decision. If something’s wrong with Zayn, Harry should know about it, he decides. They’re—well, they’re something. And also best friends.

He makes it around the fire in time to hear Zayn saying in a whisper, “—s fine, Liam. It’s great. You can just be happy for me!”

“I am happy,” Liam protests. He has his hurt puppy face on now. “I’m just worried you’ll end up hurt.”

“It’s my last chance, I’m not going to blow it.”

“You need to tell—Harry!” Liam cuts himself off, with a smile that’s not a very good fake.

“Hey.” Harry waves. That’s not suspicious at all. For a second, it feels like he’s back at school, people shooting polite but not welcoming smiles at him, but it’s Zayn and Liam, and Harry knows better. He does. “There room for me?”

“Um.” Harry politely pretends not to notice Zayn kick Liam’s shin. Liam presses his lips together, but he gets to his feet. “I need to make sure no one’s sneaking off into dark corners anyway.” Liam gives Zayn a pointed look. “Have fun.”

“We will,” Zayn retorts, and Liam gives him another one of those looks and sets off around the fire. Zayn ignores him, just looks up at Harry, his eyelashes shading his face as he smiles a little. “Hey.”

Harry swallows. He’s unfair. “Hey,” he says, and gives his best cheeky grin. “So. About those dark corners…”

Zayn laughs, but he holds up his hands, and Harry pulls him to his feet. He doesn’t let go once he’s up, so they’re just standing there with their fingers locked, smiling at each other. Harry knows his is a bit stupid, but he’s holding hands with Zayn, and Zayn wants him back. This is going to be so good.

“This isn’t a corner,” Zayn says at last, after he doesn’t know how long, and Harry laughs. They probably aren’t at all subtle as they sneak away, but no one will care, Harry knows from plenty of experience. Just like he knows the best place not to get caught is behind the mess cabin, near the office. Paul likes to enjoy the bonfire, so he doesn’t go into the offices at night; they’re safe.

Zayn’s got a thoughtful look on as Harry tugs him into the dark corner there. “So this is what it’s like to be back here with you,” he says, not resisting as Harry pulls him in by the belt loops. He rests one hand on Harry’s hip, the other at his neck to tilt his head at the right angle. But he doesn’t sound terribly happy about it.

Harry grins back anyway. He’s pretty happy about their current position. “Any complaints?”

“None yet.” His fingers have somehow snaked between Harry’s jeans and his shirt, running over the skin there. “But I will if nothing happens soon.”

“I can work with that,” Harry tells him, then they don’t talk anymore.

It’s just as good as in the cabin, making out with Zayn back here against the wall, with Zayn pressed tight to him and his tongue in Harry’s mouth like he knows what he’s doing. Harry’s just about ready to try for his hand in Zayn’s pants when there’s a cracking branch a little ways away, and they both freeze.

“Be quiet!” a teenaged boy hisses. Harry thinks he vaguely recognizes the voice as one of Liam’s. “Someone’ll hear us!”

“No one’s back here,” a girl retorts. Harry can just see them, shadows against the faint light of the fire and the one left on in the office, sneaking towards the woods. “It doesn’t matter.”

“They could be!” the boy protests. “Come on.”

Zayn’s still pressed against Harry, his face in Harry’s neck where it had been before, but he’s not kissing Harry anymore. He’s just shaking, and Harry doesn’t have to look at his face to know it’s with laughter. He buries his own laughter in Zayn’s hair as the kids tiptoe away, pulling at each other.

“Fuck, that’s a flashback,” Zayn chuckles when they’re gone, lifting his head. The mood’s broken, Harry can tell, but he doesn’t let go of Zayn’s waist.

“Yeah, sneaking out to hook up. Definitely a flashback,” Harry teases, and rolls his hips into Zayn’s a little, just to make the point. Zayn makes a face. “And anyway,” Harry goes on, “Did you do much sneaking? I don’t remember seeing you leave.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Zayn shoots back, but he runs a hand over the back of his neck. “But nah, like. That was you, wasn’t it? Getting girls back here. I didn’t have, like. Not a lot of choice, you know?”

“So you and Casper…” Harry knows he shouldn’t have to ask, but he does. He’s missed all this time he could have had this, is the thing. Last year would probably have been infinitely more bearable if he’d known he was coming back to this. And now—he won’t have another chance for this. With Zayn, hopefully, but not here at camp. He needs to take everything he can.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “No, I told you. He’s—no. And there wasn’t anyone else usually, yeah?”

“There was what’s his face. Connor,” Harry points out. Zayn snorts, makes a face.

“He couldn’t put a sentence together.”

“You don’t need sentences.”

“Well, like. I’d rather have been chilling with you.”

“Yeah?” Harry smirks, as his stomach flutters again, at Zayn choosing him. He knew he hadn’t liked Connor much.

“All you lot, I mean,” Zayn amends quickly, shaking his head. “And anyway,” he adds, with a wicked look. “He kissed like a fish.”

“And how do you know that, then?” Harry demands. “Thought he couldn’t string a sentence together.”

“I had to figure that out somehow,” Zayn points out, like it’s reasonable. “And, I dunno. I wasn’t, like. I wasn’t you. We can’t all just smile and have everyone in a line.”

Harry presses his lips together. It’s not true, he knows that, but he likes Zayn thinking it too much to contradict him. “Have you seen your smile?” he says instead. “It’s pretty irresistible.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Not like yours,” he mutters, rubbing at his ear again. Harry’s stomach is pretty full of butterflies, and he knows he’s probably smiling ear to ear. Even if he’s wrong. His smile is irresistible too. And like, in a real way. He’s the one who’s gotten real boyfriends before, who made friends.

“I don’t know,” Harry runs his finger over Zayn’s lips. “I think I like yours better.”

Zayn lets his mouth fall open, nips at Harry’s finger, and really the only way to get back at him for that is to kiss him again because that’s acceptable now.

They stay back there until Louis finally comes to get them, clearing his throat loudly until Zayn lifts his face away from Harry’s neck to glare at him. When they all go back to the bonfire, Harry settles next to Zayn, resting his head on his shoulder. Zayn’s arm wraps around his waist, and Harry nuzzles closer, pointedly ignoring Niall’s wolf whistle and Louis’s snickers because Zayn smiles down at him, and when no one’s looking his hand slips down from Harry’s waist to his ass. It’s a good night, Harry thinks. He could get used to it.

\---

“Harry—we have to—they’ll be here soon,” Zayn pants, and Harry pouts at how that moves Zayn’s lips away from his.

“We’ve got five minutes,” he protests, but he knows that’s not entirely true. The first shift of kids left the arts and crafts tent maybe ten minutes ago, but he was much more occupied with Zayn’s lips and how Zayn kept stuttering out his name whenever he kissed the right spot on his neck than timing how much longer it would be until the kids showed up. So he does lift his head, lets go of Zayn’s waist. “Fine.”

“Sorry, babe.” Zayn’s hands linger in Harry’s hair, before he drags them through it as they fall back to his side. Harry’s probably a mess, and he doesn’t care at all. The kids won’t know. Or Harry hopes they won’t, because Zayn looks well-kissed enough that no one who knows would be able to mistake it. “But I’ve got to set out the paints.”

“Stop being responsible,” Harry whines, but he steps back, and even helpfully tugs on Zayn’s shirt so it settles right as Zayn goes to the supply closet.

“Sorry,” Zayn says again, as he bends over to grab more paints. Harry perches on one of the long tables, and he doesn’t pretend he’s not eying Zayn’s ass when Zayn turns again. “Privacy’s bit in short supply.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs. He just wants enough time to do this properly. “Never thought I’d miss school.”

“Did you have privacy there?” Zayn asks. The stack of palettes teeters in his arms, and Harry hops off the table to grab some. Zayn smiles his thanks, and Harry’s a little lost in it, in how it makes Harry feel like there’s no one else in the world, so he actually says,

“Yeah. Plenty of it.”

“Wow. I think I had even less than with my sisters.” Zayn sets three palettes down, then rearranges the ones the kids had left. “Didn’t you have a roommate?”

Harry snorts, he can’t help it. “He wasn’t there much. He didn’t really like it in the room.” That’s the understatement of the century, but it’s innocent enough, he figures. Lots of people don’t like their roommates. And somehow it’s easier to talk about it like this, casual, still a little hazy from Zayn’s tongue in his mouth.

But Zayn must hear something, or maybe he just knows Harry a bit too well, because he turns around, his eyes narrowed, his head cocked. “Why not?”

“The rooms kind of sucked,” Harry jokes. Zayn just keeps looking at him, and it’s—it’s the look that got him to confess his homesickness to him when he was eight, that got him to talk about his parents’ divorce when he was thirteen. The one that doesn’t demand, that Harry knows means he would let it go if Harry wanted him to, not like Louis who would just keep asking. This is why people always come out to Zayn, Harry thinks, as that look settles in his bones. The ease and assurance of that. It makes Harry want to say, because Zayn, he thinks—he might understand. This much at least.

“He was…he was really into frat stuff, and all, so that was—we didn’t fit, at first.” Harry looks down at the table as he talks, but he can still feel Zayn’s gaze. “And then…maybe he knew before me, or something, because when I came out, he wasn’t very okay with it.” There are footsteps, then an arm slings around Harry’s waist, pulling him into Zayn’s side. Harry goes easily, takes the embrace, because Zayn always knows when he needs a hug. “It just wasn’t the best living situation, you know?”

“Yeah.” And he does, Harry knows. Maybe not that, but he does know, because he’d fought these fights. It makes the squeeze he gives Harry mean something. “If he said anything, you can talk to the administration, you know.”

“It was never that, like, overt. Just wasn’t comfortable. And it meant he wasn’t around much.”

“Well that’s something.” Zayn’s fingers tighten on Harry’s hip. “Fuck him, anyway. You can find a friend to room with this time.”

“Well.” This is where Harry tells him, he knows. Tells him that no, he won’t, because he’s going in blind to another lottery but it’ll be okay because he specified on the form. But he doesn’t want to ruin this, doesn’t want to bring reality into this idyll, and if he tells Zayn—but he should—but—

Then Zayn’s hand is on his chin, tilting it towards Zayn’s face so Harry has to look. There’s no judgment in his expression, just that affection Harry’s always known is there, even before he realized he wanted it to be more. “And you know you can always, like, talk to me or whatever? Everyone else does anyway.”  

“Zayn—”

“I won!” Sebastian yells, skidding through the door with a few other boys and girls at his heels. Harry jumps, and Zayn’s hand falls to his side and there’s suddenly a good few inches between them. “Hah, told you I would!”

“You got a head start!” Cassie protests, brushing hair away from her freckled face.

Harry meets Zayn’s eyes for a second, before Zayn goes to break up the ensuing fight, and there’s just laughter and fondness in it. It’s probably a good thing Harry didn’t tell him. He’ll know soon enough, and right now this is so good.

\---

_Crack!_

Harry almost jumps, even though the crack of the branch is due to his own feet. But still, he thinks sulkily, it’s louder than it should be, almost echoing through the woods. At least he has the comfort of seeing a few of the campers down on the path jump and look around, trying to peer through the trees.

“What was that?” One demands, and at least Harry isn’t the only thing that’s loud here. He pays more attention at his next step, and tries to make sure he stays behind the trees.

“Could be a bear,” Zayn muses, to a few gasps and Liam’s snort.

“Yeah, a bear. They’re out,” Liam agrees, playing along. “Maybe a mountain lion.”

“Really?” Malik sounds more hopeful than scared. No sense of self-preservation at all, Harry thinks fondly, still trying to be careful as he sneaks forward.

“Sure. Lion or tiger or bear.”

“Oh my!” Zayn chimes in. He looks very serious, but in the way where he can’t keep his smile out of his eyes. Harry doesn’t need to be close to see it. He’d like to be close to see it, because he’s found in the past few days that if he thought being close to Zayn when they were just friends was fun, being close to him when they’re more is even better, but even now he can tell Zayn’s expression from how he’s holding himself.

“Are you kidding?” The first girl demands. “Are there really bears?” She grabs onto Zayn’s shirt, looks up at him, with what are probably big, scared eyes. Harry can see the moment Zayn melts, ducking down to hug her.

“No, don’t worry, there aren’t bears,” he assures her.

“Bears don’t usually come out during the day. And they don’t like people,” Liam informs the rest of the group, with his best guide voice on. “And there aren’t any mountain lions here.”

“I knew that,” Malik assures them all, loudly. “’Cause we aren’t in the mountains.”

“What about leopards?” Someone else asks, and that sets off a clamor of everyone throwing out animals it could be, including everything from hippopotamus to unicorn.

Zayn and Liam wait it out until it fades, then, “I bet we could ask,” Zayn says, raising his voice a little. “If we ask them to come out, I bet we could see.”

“How do we ask?”

“Come out come out wherever you are!” Liam calls, when Zayn hesitates. The younger kids all look around anxiously. The older ones are rolling their eyes, but at least they’re humoring them.

Liam gestures to everyone. “Come out come out!” they all chime in. Harry creeps around as best he can, trying to get behind them.

“Do you think it’s a serial killer?” One of the older boys asks gleefully. “Here to kill all—”

Harry figures he’s not going to get a better opening, so he yells as loud as he can, as he leaps onto Zayn’s back. Zayn doesn’t even flinch, just catches him under the legs, but everyone else jumps, and a least two people scream.

“Harry!” Malik yells, pouting. “We thought you were a bear!”

“Maybe a koala,” Liam teases, and Harry sticks his tongue out at him over Zayn’s back. Liam’s probably the best at giving piggy back rides, all told, because Harry does always worry a little he’s going to break Zayn, even though he knows he’s stronger than he looks, but as nice looking as Liam is it’s not the same as feeling Zayn’s back against his chest, as being able to rest his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, as knowing Zayn’s holding him up.

“Koala’s aren’t bears,” an older girl says. Liam scoffs.

“Sure they are. Zayn?”

“Sorry, babe.” Zayn grins. “They aren’t.”

“No,” Liam insists, and he starts to move forward on their hike, still bickering with the girl. The other kids follow him, Zayn letting them all pass. Harry tilts his head to rest against Zayn’s cheek, and waits.

Once all the kids have gone past, and Zayn doesn’t react like they’ve missed one, Harry squirms until Zayn lets him down. He stays where he is, though, pressed against Zayn’s back, because he likes it here. He always has. And he likes it more when Zayn doesn’t push him away, just tilts his head to smile.

“You following us?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Harry pouts. He sticks out his lower lip for effect.

Zayn laughs, and turns so he’s facing Harry. It separates them a little bit, but it also means Harry can look at him. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be so clumsy.”

“Hey,” Harry whines. “The branch came out of nowhere.” The woods have always been more Zayn’s place; he liked the beach better.

“Sure it did,” Zayn agrees, rolling his eyes. “There a reason you’re up here?”

“Um.” Harry tugs at his hair. It’s not a big deal. He and Zayn are doing their thing, it’s not a big deal. “No, just wanted to hang out with you.” He hates, hates, the plaintive tone that comes into his voice, but he can’t help it. “That okay?”

Zayn’s head tilts as he looks at Harry, something thoughtful in his gaze. But it’s not the look people would get at school when Harry would try to talk to them, how they’d be slow to open the circle so he could get in. How they’d look at him weirdly. It’s just Zayn, thinking. And, “When do I not want you around?” he asks, and tucks a lock of Harry’s hair that he’d tugged out from under the bandana behind his ear.

“I annoy you a lot,” Harry can’t help but point out. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But he has to say it. “You’ve kicked me out of the cabin plenty.”

“Yeah, well, everyone annoys me a lot.” Zayn waves a hand. “You less than others, usually. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” Harry shakes his head, takes the time to bring himself back together. When he’s settled, he gives Zayn his cheekiest grin. “Well. Something, maybe.”

“Haz. I can’t just abandon Liam,” Zayn hisses, glancing up the path to where the last of the kids are trekking around a corner. He doesn’t look very convinced of it, though.

“He left us alone. He knew what was going to happen,” Harry argues. He takes a step forward, just enough so that Zayn has to move backwards, but he could either go back into the tree or to the side if he really doesn’t want this. Zayn goes back against the tree, and Harry grins. The woods have always sort of been Zayn’s thing, because he went to the lake as little as he could so he spent that time wandering around the woods, getting into trouble because he’d disappear and be found hours later having fallen asleep or some shit. So it feels right that Zayn looks really good leaning against the tree, his black hair stark in contrast to the trunk. For a second his grin fades, and there’s something soft and open in his face.  

“Yeah, sure, right. Come here,” he urges, and Harry doesn’t need telling twice.

They’ve stolen time whenever they can, sneaking away when the other counselors can watch the kids, between activity periods when they can help each other out, and it’s always just as good as the first time, how Zayn’s lips feel and how he kisses and how his hands move over Harry’s back, tangling in his hair and pulling perfectly so Harry moans into his mouth, then detours around to taste more of Zayn’s skin. Their hips are rolling against each other, and the friction’s so good, and Harry hasn’t gotten off with more than his hand in so long and it’s Zayn making soft breathy noises, and he can feel Zayn getting hard against his thigh, and fuck. He grinds his hips in again, and Zayn tugs at his hair until he’s kissing him properly again. Harry’s drunk off him he thinks, sliding a hand between their bodies so he can fumble at Zayn’s jeans. Drunk off Zayn’s kisses and the way Zayn’s holding on to him and why hadn’t he done this years ago?

“Harry.” Zayn’s hand is on his wrist, keeping him away from Zayn’s pants. “Haz, wait.”

“Why?” Harry demands. He kisses Zayn again, as hot as he can, then bites at Zayn’s collarbone like he’s figured out makes Zayn make really great sounds.

He makes that wonderful sort of whining moan, but his hand’s tight around Harry’s. “We can’t, I’ve got—someone’ll see.”

“Let them.”

“If they were overage, I’d say the same thing.” Harry chokes at the purr in Zayn’s voice, and the shock of it, the image, makes Harry lax enough that Zayn can gently push him back. “We can’t, though. I’ve got to get back.” At least he doesn’t look very happy about it. If anything, he looks in awe, staring at Harry like he can’t believe he’s there.

“Won’t take long.” After all the kissing they’ve been doing in the past few days, Harry thinks it might take a stiff breeze. Might take Zayn looking at him the right way. “I’ve been thinking about his.”

“You’ve got no idea,” Zayn mutters, which both makes Harry grin and doesn’t help his situation at all, because the idea of Zayn thinking about him is a pretty delicious one. “I don’t want to stop, but, like. We really can’t.”

Harry sighs. He’s right, he knows Zayn’s right, he just wishes Zayn wasn’t all disciplined and shit.“Yeah, fine.” He moves his hand, lets it go back to the tree so it’ll hold him up while he rests their foreheads together. Zayn even looks good at this angle. It’s not fair. “Tease.”

“Says the guy who came up here just to start something he couldn’t finish,” Zayn retorts, but he’s smiling, his fond Harry smile. It hasn’t changed, except maybe there’s more lust. Harry wants things to have changed, because they’ve changed for him, but he likes this smile too. Likes the way Zayn’s hand is still on his shoulder, tracing circles like he needs it to ground him.

“Oh, I could finish.” Harry murmurs, and moves his hips just enough that Zayn makes a sound that’s suspiciously like a whimper.

“Next time we have time,” Zayn says. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes. He’s taking very deep breaths. Harry chooses to be flattered by that. He can still make people crazy, then. “We’ll find time.”

 “How much time are you planning on needing?” Harry lets his voice go low, and Zayn snorts.

“You’ve got no idea, babe.” Harry wants an idea, though. He keeps thinking about that idea as Zayn runs a hand through his hair, rubs at his lips, pulls at his shirt. It’s a pity. He looks hot always, but Harry likes him disheveled. “How do I look?”

“Like someone jumped you in the woods and made out with you against a tree,” Harry volunteers. Zayn rolls his eyes, and kicks at Harry’s shin.

“No, like. But for real. Think anyone’ll know?”

Harry drags his gaze slowly up and down Zayn. It’s a pretty nice look.

“Liam might,” he concludes at last, “But I don’t think the kids will.”

“Good enough.” He hesitates. “Um, like. I do have to go.”

“Yeah.” Harry pecks him on the lips, then holds his hands up. “I should go do some cleaning up anyway.”

“Later, then?”

“Definitely!” Harry watches as Zayn gives him one more look, then trots up the path.

He waits a second, but then, well, he’s curious. He follows after, really trying for stealthy this time.

They weren’t actually gone long, Harry realizes; the kids didn’t get far, grouped around a tree as Liam talks. Liam looks at Zayn when he slips back into the group, but doesn’t say anything until he’s finished his spiel, and the kids are scampering on.

“So, where were you?” Liam asks, grinning knowingly. Zayn knocks his shoulder against Liam’s, wrinkling his nose.

“Fuck off.”

“Have fun?”

“For real, fuck off. The kids are getting away.”

Liam laughs, but then he goes serious again, his face softening as he throws an arm over Zayn’s shoulders. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, with this.”

“Of course I’m okay.” Zayn shakes his head, rubs at his ear. Harry doesn’t understand the question either, because if Zayn wasn’t okay he’s never had a problem saying no. He knows Harry wouldn’t really have a problem with it, either. “It’s, like. I’m more than okay with it, you know that.”

“Even like this?”

“Like whatever,” Zayn tells him, like that means something, and Liam nods.

“Long as you’re sure.”

“You get to lecture me when you make a move on Sophia,” Zayn retorts, and Liam’s pace stutters for a second, before he laughs.  

“Be nice or I’m telling Louis you and Harry were actually sitting in a tree.”

“Do it and I tell Louis about that thing—”

They’re shoving playfully at each other as they move away, and Harry lets them go. He doesn’t know what he was looking for, but that wasn’t it. Maybe a confession of love? Maybe just Zayn talking about Harry differently?

He wants Harry with him, though, he’d said. And he clearly wants Harry. And he’s Zayn. Zayn likes him. He knows it. Zayn’s happy with how they are, he’d said it.

Harry knows very well how happy Zayn is with him, he thinks, smiling to himself, then sets off back to his cabin. No one will be around for a while. And he doesn’t have any kids nearby, so if they are going to have to wait that long to get off together, he’s going to need some sort of relief.

\---

“Okay, now we’re going to all stir as fast as we can!” Harry instructs, demonstrating on his own bowl. The row of kids at the long table take no time at all picking up on those instructions, going at their mixing bowls excitedly. Harry keeps whipping his own batter, then walks down the row of mainly girls. There are a few boys who decided the baking activity might be worth it for the prospective treats, but not many. The girls are all enthusiastic about the cookies they’re making though, and this step’s the easy one. The breaking eggs was harder.

He’s leaning over to help one of the youngest girls go a little faster when the door to the kitchen opens, and he sees Zayn slip in, out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t make a big deal of it, closing the door quietly behind him, so Harry thinks he might be the only one who notices. He shoots Zayn a grin, and Zayn nods back.

He doesn’t seem to be here for anything, probably just getting to the kitchen early because he had a free period and it’s almost dinner, so Harry turns his attention back to the girls. “Great stirring, guys!” he enthuses, clapping. “Now’s when we add the chocolate chips, if you want. You take one spoonful from the bowls in the center, and put them in.” He demonstrates again, then nods, and finds he’s not surprised when suddenly he has a Zayn leaning against his back.

“Hi Zayn!” One of Vanessa’s girls, Caitlin, says, and Zayn grins and waves.

“Hey, babe. Whatcha making?”

“Cookies!” She waves her bowl, nearly hitting the girl next to her. “With chocolate chips.”

“Delicious.” Zayn reaches over Harry’s shoulder, and grabs a chip right from the bowl. “Yep, definitely delicious.”

“Zayn,” Harry chides, but he can’t help laughing. “Don’t teach the girls bad habits.”

“But it’s delicious,” Zayn protests, batting his eyelashes. “Right, Caitlin?”

“Yeah!” she agrees, bouncing a little.

“Okay, but none of you should be bad like Zayn and try some beforehand,” Harry informs them. He can feel Zayn hum against his back. It never used to be this difficult to have Zayn so close to him, but now he’s trying very hard to think non-sexy thoughts. “We’re going to fold in the chips now. So no stirring, just sort of gentle mixing.” He tips his bowl up to show them, then watches as they all start.

“I’m a bad boy, then?” Zayn murmurs, into his ear. He’s close enough that his lips brush against Harry’s skin. “That what you’re into? Gonna punish me? Make me do what you want?”

“Zayn!” Harry yelps, as that image rushes through him on a wave of heat. When the girls all look at him, he tries to smile. His grandma’s underwear. Puppies dying. That time he failed a test last year. Rotten bananas. “Good job,” he tells them. His voice doesn’t waver, either. “Cass, you could do a little more. Don’t want any cookies with no chips in them! And you,” he adds, turning so he can whisper back to Zayn, “Not here.”

“You gave me the line.” Zayn smirks, clearly unrepentant. Harry really, really, wishes he could kiss him right now, kiss the smirk right off his face, or kiss him for the smirk, because he loves that it comes so easily now. That Zayn doesn’t hide himself like he used to.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, instead of going down that road.

“Had some time. Wanted to, like. See you.” Zayn shrugs. “Oh, shut up,” he adds, when Harry can’t help his grin. It’s just that Zayn uses his free periods to hide usually, to get the time alone he’s always needed, to restore his energies. That he’s giving that up to come find Harry…well, it has to mean something. “I just, like…” he trails off, and instead of finishing the statement, he reaches down to grab another chocolate chip. Harry slaps at his hand.

“You just want me for my cookies,” he says, mournfully, and Zayn laughs and doesn’t deny it. “Okay, girls.” Harry turns his attention back to them. They don’t seem to have noticed it’s lapsed. “And guys,” he corrects himself, when there’s a few angry snorts. “We’re going to put these down on the trays now, so we can put them in the oven. I’m going to put a tray down for every two people, and I want you to put your sticker on your corner so you know which one’s yours. Zayn’s going to help me,” he tells them, and Zayn chuckles but detaches himself from Harry to go get the trays.

“You only like me for my tray carrying skills,” Zayn tells him, accepting a stack of trays that Harry puts in his arms. Harry nods, picking up his own.

“Well, that and other things your hands can do,” he murmurs, and Zayn’s laugh is a little choked. Still, Harry isn’t expecting the swat at his ass he gets as he goes to hand out the trays.

They hand out the trays, then Harry puts them in the oven as Zayn ostensibly watches the kids, even though Harry can see him encouraging them to steal chocolate chips while his back is turned. That’s part of the fun, though, so Harry doesn’t call them on it until all the trays are in the oven and the timer set. Then he turns around.

“What have we here?” he demands, hands on hips, as the kids give him wide-eyed, innocent looks. “I thought there was more chocolate than this out.”

“Nope!” Nita, one of the 10-11s, tells him. “This is how much there was, Harry.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. Right, Zayn?”

“Yeah, Haz. No more.” Zayn widens his eyes, sticks out his lower lip. There’s chocolate at the corner of his mouth, and a smile in his eyes even as he makes his face as pathetic as possible, and Harry laughs and shakes his head.

“Fine. Now, we clean up. Everyone, to the sinks—and stand in line while you wait to rinse your dishes!” he adds, before there’s a stampede. Zayn’s tongue flicks out, licks the chocolate off his lips. Grandma’s underwear. Abandoned kittens—Zayn playing with abandoned kittens—no, just the kittens, sad and alone. Puke. Sitting alone at a table in the dining hall.

It’s just been a long time since Harry’s gotten off with anything but his hand, and more than that, he’s been kissing Zayn for days now and nothing more, and there’s the promise of later but he wants it now. He wants to feel that tongue on his skin, wants to see what Zayn looks like when he comes. He just wants, and wants to see Zayn wanting him. Zayn came to see him when he could be reading in his bunk, that means something. Not that he didn’t do it before, but still. He did it now. And is flirting. And Harry’s been waiting. And fuck, Zayn’s licking his lips again, for no reason Harry can see except because it’s driving Harry crazy.

Somehow, Harry gets through supervising clean up, then taking the cookies out of the oven and distributing them for the kids to put on their own plates for them to eat during dinner, even though Zayn gets up a little ways through clean up to stand next to Harry, his hand brushing over his thigh every once in a while.

Harry’s never been quite so thankful as when he can let the kids out to go wash up before dinner. Zayn looks ready to go too, walking out the door after Harry to watch and make sure none of them run away—but Harry’s not letting him go like that.

He grabs Zayn’s wrist before he can get away, and Zayn looks down at it, then up at him, his lips quirking. “Haz?”

“Going somewhere?” Harry asks, and strokes his thumb over Zayn’s pulse. Zayn’s eyes go wide, but then he sidles closer, and Harry forgets about that.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he replies. His eyes flick down and up, over Harry.

“We’ve got some time before dinner,” Harry points out, licking his own lips. Zayn watches it, and Harry purses his lips, just a little, in the way he knows guys like. “We could…”

“Could do what?” Zayn retorts, and he’s smirking again, maybe not quite so sure as before.

Harry shakes his head. He’s been wanting this for almost two weeks, and he’s almost certain Zayn does too, knows Zayn likes kissing him, but…but Harry’s the one making the moves, it feels like, and what if Zayn’s just going along, or something? What if Zayn’s just humoring Harry?

“Haz?” Zayn repeats, gentler now, and he’s pulling away, tensing.

“You—” It’s time for a smooth line, but Harry can’t—he just—what if Zayn laughs at that? “You want this?”

“Fuck, Harry. Of course I do.”

This time it’s Zayn tugging at him, pulling him into the trees where they’re hidden from view. Harry catches half a glimpse of Liam as they go, so someone at least knows they aren’t dead, then he promptly forgets about it when Zayn’s lips are on his and he’s stumbling into a tree to keep himself upright so he can keep kissing Zayn.

“We should—back,” Zayn murmurs, after Harry’s already dizzy with kissing, with his arousal, with the feel of Zayn’s erection against his thigh. His breath hitches as Harry kisses at his neck. “Kids—dinner.”

“We can be late.” Zayn makes a sound that might be disapproving, or might just be complaining because Harry’s not kissing him. He’s certainly staying pressed close to Harry, his hands roaming over his back, almost desperate. “Don’t want to wait any more. No one will care, ‘s just dinner.” Harry kisses Zayn again, and this time he slides his hands up under Zayn’s shirt, not taking it off but exploring. Zayn shivers under his touch, and Harry kisses him again, finds that place on his neck. Zayn groans, his hips moving against Harry’s and his hands tightening on Harry’s ass against the tree, and Harry can’t fucking wait any more. He gives up on his exploration of Zayn’s body, though he’ll get to that later, to start undoing his jeans.

He pauses once he’s got the button open though, before he does anything else, because—because he needs to say something, needs to check. “Yeah?”

Zayn’s lips are bitten red, and there’s a bit of a mark at his neck that Harry can’t regret even though Louis’s going to tease them so much. “That the famous Styles charm?” Zayn gets out, his voice hoarse. “Fuck, yes, always.”

“Thank god,” Harry breathes, and gets his hands in Zayn’s pants. Zayn moans as Harry wraps a hand around him, his head falling forward onto Harry’s shoulder, but even as he’s panting somehow he’s got Harry’s pants open too, fumbling when Harry thumbs over the head and Zayn gasps.

“Fuck, Harry, yeah,” he’s muttering, and Harry hadn’t really thought that he’d be loud but he likes it. Harry’s not much better, but he doesn’t know what he’s saying, because Zayn’s hand’s so good, tight and fast on Harry, then moving down to cup his balls and Harry wants to impress Zayn, he does, he has good stamina, Zayn will see if he just stops—never stop.

But Harry’s determined, and he goes back to Zayn’s neck to suck as he keeps stroking at Zayn, and then Zayn groans and he’s coming over Harry’s hand, his own hand still as he rides it out. Harry keeps at it, moving up to kiss him properly and just rut a little bit into Zayn’s loose fist as he comes back.

He knows when Zayn’s got a little bit of brain left because that’s when he starts stroking at Harry again, properly, and his other hand is in Harry’s hair to keep him kissing, tugging so it stings like Harry likes, and Harry’s coming before he can say anything, panting into Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn sags forward into Harry once he’s stroked Harry through it, his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry thinks he might be floating, might be flying. That was—not worth the wait, because they could have been doing that for ages, but it was better than anything Harry’s known before. Better than fumbling with other guys, anyway.

Except…Zayn’s still not saying anything. Zayn hasn’t said anything since he came, which is a weird contrast to how he’d been before. He’s just leaning there, his fingers tracing a circle on Harry’s hip, his head resting against Harry’s neck. What if he’s breaking it to Harry he wasn’t very good? That he was good, but now it’s happened he doesn’t want him around? That they’re done? That that’s all he wanted from Harry, and now they’d be back to being friends?

“We should probably get back,” Harry mutters. Better to put it off. So he lets go of Zayn, moves to tuck himself back in.

Zayn catches his arm, shaking his head so it rubs into Harry’s neck. “No, stay a second? Please?” He inhales, and it feels like he’s breathing in Harry. “I just want…”

Harry knows he’s smiling in relief. Zayn wants to stay. Of course he does. He’s Zayn, he’s not someone from the parties back at school. He’s never pushed Harry away, or not for real, and only when he really is being a brat.

Harry doesn’t know how long they lean there for, just breathing, Zayn’s weight heavy and warm against him, his fingers spreading a warmth that isn’t quite arousal.

“Hey.” Zayn says at last, lifting his head so he can look at Harry. In the dark, it’s like all he is is the blonde streak in his hair and his eyes, smiling with a hint of concern. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” Harry grins, stretches back a little. “If I’d known this was what you were doing in the woods, I’d’ve come out here more often.”

“Shove off.” Zayn rolls his eyes, tugs at one of Harry’s curls, before he pushes it back behind Harry’s ear. Harry turns his face into his hand, so Zayn’s fingers trail against his skin. He likes Zayn touching him like that, the easy gentleness he’s always used. “And I wasn’t, like. Told you. Didn’t really know how to do the whole, getting guys out here thing.”

Harry snorts. “You had to smile at them, Zee.” He grins. “Or, that’s what worked for me.”

Zayn ducks his head a little, and its dark, but Harry thinks he can see a blush. Sometimes, Harry doesn’t get Zayn. He can shrugs off a compliment like it’s nothing—they all say shit about how pretty he is, it’s a fact of life—but sometimes he goes quiet and blushy like this.

“Nah, or, maybe? But I wasn’t you, you know? And, well.” He can feel Zayn shrug, exhale. “The guy—well, the ones you want are always straight, you know?”

“Not anymore,” Harry informs him, and he can feel Zayn huff out a laugh, rub his forehead into Harry’s skin as he shakes his head. “And you’ve got your face. Bet even straight guys waver for your cheekbones.”

“You—,” Zayn cuts himself off. “Wouldn’t have mattered,” he says instead, and Harry’s far too happy to press. “Didn’t know how to ask, even if I could have.”

“Clearly you do now,” Harry retorts. He lets his hands wander a little, over Zayn’s back, down to his ass. It’s so easy, here, tucked against Zayn. So comfortable. He feels like enough. Feels like he fits.

“Yeah, well. College’s great for the confidence, you know? Not just, the guys and shit. Just, I dunno.” Zayn smiles, a little nostalgic, a little excited. “Changing places, I guess? Finding mine.” Harry makes what he hopes is an understanding noise into Zayn’s shoulder. That’s what it will be, he tells himself. Next year. He can find his place there, with Zayn, where there’s a real English program and enough things to do and people who like him. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Harry still doesn’t look up, but he can feel Zayn tensing a little.

“No, like. Are you okay?” Shit, Harry hadn’t wanted this. Hadn’t wanted Zayn to notice. “You—I mean, you want this, right?”

“Yeah!” Harry has to look at Zayn then, has to meet his eyes. He can’t let Zayn go around believing this isn’t amazing. That he wants anything more than for Zayn to look at him for real, to see him as more than friends. “Of course! Why would you think I don’t?”

“’Cause, like…” Zayn trails off. He lets go of Harry, though, and uses the space to finally tuck himself back in, righting his clothes a little. Harry does the same, but he stays against the tree. He doesn’t want to go back. He wants to stay here with Zayn, out where it’s just the two of them. After he kisses away the worried look on Zayn’s face, that is, and makes Zayn look at him with all the emotions Harry feels towards Zayn. Then they can stay like this forever, not risk the messiness of the real world, how Harry could fuck up school again, could fuck Zayn up. Just him and Zayn and the wind through the leaves. “You, just. You’ve been, like, acting differently? Like, this isn’t how you usually got people out here, yeah?”

“Have you studied my technique?” Harry teases, and Zayn runs a hand through his hair, glancing away.

“Couldn’t help but see, could I?” He rubs at his ear. “But you don’t, I mean, I don’t know. Just, like, you kept asking, and it was me who had to get us out here, and, I dunno, if you don’t really want this, I’d understand, it’d be—”

“No!” Harry has to cut him off then. That’s the opposite of what he wants. “No, I just. I wanted to check that you wanted it?”

Zayn’s head tilts, his eyes narrowing. “Since when do you think anyone might not?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to look away. “College wasn’t as good for all of us as it was to you.”

There’s a long silence, or it feels long, at least. Harry’s half-expecting questions, like would come from anyone else, but—it’s Zayn. And because it’s Zayn, who lets things happen at their own pace, who doesn’t make Harry march to anyone’s drum but his own, who gets that sometimes you don’t want to talk about things--Zayn just nods, and doesn’t ask. “Well, I do, like. Want this. Want, um. You.” It looks like he’s blushing again. Harry can’t help his grin.

“That’s good, then.” He has to close the distance between them again, kiss Zayn again, as thanks and because he wants to. Zayn kisses back, just as enthusiastically, but Harry pulls away before it can go to far. “We should probably get to dinner.”

“Yeah.” Zayn sounds just as disappointed as Harry, which is something. “Guess we should.”

On their way back, Harry steels himself, tells himself off for having to steel himself, then reaches out and grabs Zayn’s hand, intertwining their fingers. The smile he gets back is worth the teasing they get from Louis when they get back, the shy pleased curve of Zayn’s lips, and the way his hand tightens over Harry’s.

\---

“Okay, everyone spread out their sleeping bags first, then you can go to the fire,” Harry orders, clapping his hands so the boys pay attention to him. It’s a bit of chaos out in the fields right now, with all the kids spread out over the grass, setting up for the sleep out, chattering and negotiating who should sleep next to who. Harry remembers when this was a big day for him, when they finally got to sleep out under the stars, and how the five of them had set up their sleeping bags in a row then whispered all night, Niall pointing out constellations and Zayn telling them the stories that went along with them. Now, he’s a little over it, and would kind of prefer a bed, but Sophia and Casper have the inside duties this year. So Harry’s stuck helping the kids unroll their bags, and telling off Aaron and Malik for their arguments about who gets the patch of grass next to the tree.

“But I was there first!” Malik insists, his lips jutting out.

“But I called it before we were out here!”  Aaron retorts, stomping his foot and glaring. Harry tugs on his curl. He should have known better than to choose a place with non-uniform geography. “So I win!”

“Finders keepers,” Malik yells back.

“There’s room for two here,” Harry points out, getting in between them. “If you lie like this, it would both work. Or there’s room next to Robbie.”

“But I don’t want to be next to Aaron,” Malik argues. “I want to be next to the tree, in case there are any monsters in it.”

Harry…doesn’t want to know what they’ve been telling him, if that’s his argument. “You’re still next to the tree,” Harry tells him, instead. “And this way Aaron will be there to help you fight the monsters.”

“I don’t need help.”

“I want to fight monsters!” Aaron adds, excited. “Do we get swords?”

“Is there room for any more over here?” Harry whirls, expecting another crisis—but it’s just Zayn, smiling with his tongue tucked behind his teeth and a sleeping bag under one arm, and a pack of boys behind him. “Mind if we set up camp here?”

Harry grins back. He’s been doing that whenever he looks at Zayn recently, grinning and thinking about how he’d felt kissing him, felt the few times since then they’ve made enough time to get hands on each other’s dicks. How he smiles at Harry, not just before he comes but after too, like he’s brilliant; how he kisses Harry like he doesn’t want to be anywhere but right there. How he’s still so Zayn about it all, still slaps him gently when he starts being more ridiculous than Zayn thinks he should be and how he still sneaks away sometimes to read and how he comes back after, slipping in next to Harry wherever they are, or sometimes jumping on him to surprise him.

“Haz?”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry doesn’t blush, exactly, but he gives a sheepish smile. “I think we can make room for you guys.”

“Sound good to you?” Zayn asks his boys, who all shrug and nod, clearly more excited to get to the bonfire than about where they’re sleeping. “Okay. Let’s set up.”

“I want to sleep next to Zayn!” Malik changes his tune immediately without regret. “Where are you sleeping?” he asks Zayn, grabbing his sleeping bag again and hurrying over so he’s next to Zayn. Aaron takes the victory he can get, throwing out his sleeping bag and jumping on it so he can’t be moved.

“Um…” Zayn glances at Harry, under his lashes. “Well, I was going to sleep near Harry, so we could make all us lame old people in one corner.” He winks, and Harry can’t not squirm. They’ve made out plenty, spent plenty of time with their hands on each other—or not plenty, because he doesn’t think there would ever be enough time, but a good amount—but they haven’t had time for anything like that. For falling asleep together after. Harry’s not even sure Zayn would want to, though he sometimes holds on to Harry after, keeps him there a second with his eyes closed and his arms around Harry. They haven’t really talked about it.

“I’ll make it not lame then,” Malik announces, “Did you know my first name is your last name?” he demands, leading Zayn over to where Harry had set up his sleeping bag.

Harry can’t help watching him, as he listens intently to Malik, nodding as he lays out his own sleeping bag and then helps Malik in his own, before turning to his own boys. Harry glances at his own kids, but they’re fine with Aaron and Malik’s argument resolved, so Harry doesn’t feel bad watching Zayn.

“Looks like you’ve got competition for Zayn’s number one fan.” Louis observes, slinging an arm over Harry’s shoulder. Harry doesn’t bother denying what he’s been looking at.

“It’s hard to compete with seven year old hero worship.”

“If it is, you’re doing something wrong,” Louis retorts. “Gotta be sure you’re properly taking care of our Zayner, don’t I?”

“I haven’t heard any complaints.” Harry pauses, then adds, “Have you?”

“No, chill. He looks just as besotted as you do.” Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s disgusting. I need to call El all the time to make up for it. Have you told him yet?”

“Told him what?”

“That you’re going to his school next year.”

“Louis!” Harry hisses. He looks around, but no one else is listening, and Zayn seems to be negotiating his own problems with his boys, Malik next to him like a mini-me.

“Take that as a no, then.” Louis tsks. “Don’t know why you haven’t.”

“I just want to enjoy the summer,” Harry mutters. He’s not sure why he hasn’t either. He’s just…he likes what they have, here. Doesn’t want to ruin that.  “So stop talking about it.”

“Fine.” Louis snorts. “Come on, bonfire’s are starting. Malik!” he yells, and both Zayn and Malik turn around. “Yeah, whichever of you. Hurry up, we want marshmallows.”

\---

There’s a different feeling about the bonfires on sleepout night, always has been. More excitement, more community, or something. Instead of splintering, the whole camp’s gathered around a few different fires, listening to Niall sing and Paul’s stories. Harry’s not entirely happy, because Zayn’s sitting on a log a little ways away from him, whispering with Liam, but it’s nice, everyone there. And he’s pretty sure he knows what Zayn’s talking about with Liam, because he keeps elbowing him and nodding in Sophia’s direction, whenever Sophia’s looking at him, which is all the time. Harry watches it too, when he’s not distracted by Niall next to him. It’s so sweet. It’s what Harry wants, he thinks. Someone to look at him like that. He glances over at Zayn, and Zayn is looking at him—but it’s not like that, it’s not different. Not new.

He sighs, and puts that out of his mind. It’s fine. He listens to Niall’s guitar, claps along when he’s supposed to, helps out a few kids roasting their marshmallows.

“Okay,” Niall says, when he finishes a song. “My fingers’re getting tired, and I want a marshmallow or hundred. So I’m going to hand this off…” Before Harry knows what’s happening, Niall’s taking the strap off of his guitar, handing it over to Harry. Harry’s eyes widen. “And Harry here can entertain you.”

“Niall!” Harry hisses. Sure, he’s played around on the guitar before—Niall’d taught him in the last few years, and he’d been doing more of it last year, because it was something he could do on his own, when Dave was out, but still, he’s not—he didn’t prepare—

“You’re good, Haz.” Niall shrugs, getting up. “Come on, kids, don’t we want to listen to Harry!”

“Yeah!” comes a chorus, mainly from Harry’s boys, but there are some older voices mixed in, and when Harry looks around, Liam’s shooting him thumbs up, and Louis makes a face that gets Harry to snort, and Zayn’s just looking at him, like he can’t wait.

“Okay, well. I didn’t exactly prepare, because someone just dropped this on me,” he makes a face at Niall, who just laughs back. “But, any requests?”

There are, and he can even play some of them, and he can’t deny how good it feels when everyone shuts up to listen to him, as he carefully picks out the notes. He’s not as good as Niall, not nearly, but none of the kids will know that, and no one’s calling him on it. The longer no one does, the easier it gets, and by a few songs in he gets the confidence to look up instead of staring at his fingers.

Zayn’s giving his marshmallow a very concentrated look. It’s not as good as if he were looking at Harry, but it means Harry can look without it seeming weird, can look as he plays some silly song about coming home, can watch the firelight on Zayn’s face, can see how his fingers move on the stick, how his tongue peeks out from between his mouth in concentration. He glances at Harry, and his gaze is soft, a little sheepish when he sees Harry looking at him. But he smiles back, and Harry can’t help his grin, how he dimples as he plays.

\----

Harry wakes up with the morning light on his face. He keeps his eyes closed for a second, cursing his internal clock that gets him up early. Last night had been a struggle getting everyone to bed, then he’d pointedly ignored the whispers that had continued late, late into the night—less for Harry’s boys, but the noise of it had been everywhere, so Harry had been up later than usual for the summer, when he’s keeping five year old hours.

 But there is something nice about waking up to the morning light. Maybe those ‘yoga in the morning’ people have a point, he thinks, opening his eyes. His back is aching a bit from the hard ground, but the sun’s warming his face, and when he turns his head the first thing he sees is Zayn.

That’s something else he could get used to, waking up to Zayn’s face. Somehow, Zayn manages to be pretty even in sleep, in a way Harry could never manage; his cheeks flushed and his lips pouted, his eyelashes long and dark against his skin, his hair falling over his forehead. He’s on his side facing Harry, one arm spread out towards him like he was reaching for him in sleep. They’d fallen asleep like that, facing each other, whispering their own things, the random shit they’ve always talked about at two in the morning, though careful that Malik was at Zayn’s feet and could overhear anything. But of course Zayn hadn’t moved in the night. Harry thinks he could live with this, falling asleep to Zayn’s face and waking up to it too.

He lifts his head, but no one else is awake, looking out around the field. No one’s there, just him. So he doesn’t feel entirely bad getting a hand out of his sleeping bag, so he can trace over Zayn’s nose, his lips. His skin’s soft, and Harry’d known that, had felt it with fingers and lips, but there’s something more intimate about the knowledge now. He’s smiling in his sleep, just a little. Harry has to wonder if he’s dreaming about Harry, or maybe something totally different.

All at once, Harry doesn’t want to be the only one awake in this morning silence. He wants someone else with him. He wants Zayn with him.

“Zayn,” he murmurs, cupping Zayn’s face. He’s had to wake Zayn up a time or two in his day. “Zayn.” When that doesn’t work, Zayn barely even moving, he shakes Zayn’s shoulder. “Zayn, wake up.”

“Fuck off.” It’s rough, barely audible, but Zayn swats at Harry’s wrist, so he’s clearly waking up.

“No, Zayn. Want to watch the sun rise with you.”

“If the sun’s rising it’s too early,” Zayn mutters, but he opens his eyes. He’s not smiling anymore, all bleary eyes and the frown he always gets when he’s waking up, but it’s adorable too. Harry has a sudden flash of waking him up for classes like this, maybe getting in a morning blow job to cheer him up. He could—maybe—“The fuck, Haz?”

“Come on.” Harry pulls on Zayn’s shoulders until he sits up.

“Don’t love you this much,” Zayn grumbles, but Harry knows better than to listen to anything he says when he’s waking up, so he just urges him up to standing. Zayn’s sort of like one of his boys this early, so Harry just wraps a hand around his wrist and starts tugging him, picking his way around the sleeping kids as Zayn trails behind him, still mumbling grumpily. They make it to the dock before the sun’s really done more than peak above the treetops, before anyone else is awake except the birds, and Harry sits down on the end of the dock, then pulls Zayn down next to him. Zayn immediately turns so he can bury his head in Harry’s shoulder and possibly go back to sleep, but that’s okay. Harry just wants to be here, with the sun rising and sparkling on the dew, with the birds singing and everything feeling fresh and new. He wraps his arm around Zayn’s waist, rests his cheek on his hair, and watches the sun rise.

He doesn’t know exactly when Zayn properly wakes up, but they’ve been there for maybe fifteen minutes when, “Fine, this is pretty,” Zayn mumbles.

Harry hides his triumphant grin in his hair. “Yeah?”

“Still not worth waking up for. But pretty.” Zayn tilts his head up, and he’s smiling at Harry, still soft with sleep. “So’re you.”

Harry can feel himself dimple. “So’re you,” he retorts. “Glad I got you up?”

“No.” Zayn pouts, his lips puffing out, and Harry has no choice but to kiss them, really, just a quick chaste thing, and Zayn’s lips are curving up a little up when they separate. “But if I had to be awake, I’m glad it’s with you.”

 “Oh.” Harry knows he’s blushing, but that’s basically the biggest compliment Zayn could give him. And, it’s…Zayn wants to be with him. In the morning quiet. Like Harry wants to be with Zayn.

“I’d still rather be asleep,” Zayn repeats, and shifts so he’s closer. He’s just in gym shorts and a t-shirt, while Harry’d had the foresight to wear sweatpants, and Zayn’s smaller than Harry, and Harry’s already cold, so really, there’s an excuse to snuggle closer to Zayn. For body heat. It’s why it’s best for them to cuddle like this, leaning on each other.

The sun’s well on its way up when Zayn speaks again. “Wanted to ask you,” he says, his cheek on Harry’s shoulder. “When’d you get so good on the guitar?”

Harry shrugs, careful not to dislodge Zayn. “Been practicing a lot, last year.”

“When’d you find time?” Zayn yawns. “I barely had a chance to draw anything.”

Maybe it’s because Zayn hasn’t asked. Maybe it’s because he’s warm and close and half-asleep. Maybe it’s because the day feels so bright and new and reborn, like Harry can be.

“I had a lot of alone time,” he says, quietly. He can feel Zayn breathe, but Zayn doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask, so Harry goes on. “I didn’t—I didn’t really have friends, and guitar was something to do.”

“No friends?” Zayn repeats, incredulous. “You?”

“Yeah, well. Apparently no one there liked me.” Harry rubs at his eyes. He’s not crying. He’s not. He’s already cried too much over this, and he won’t give it any more. “And I didn’t have a thing—I didn’t make any of the comedy troupes, or the a cappella group, and the frats all hated me, and just—no one.”

He doesn’t want to look at Zayn. Doesn’t want to see if he’s judging him, if it’s changed how Zayn’s going to look at him.

“What about the LGBT places?” Zayn asks, gentle. Not judging. Of course he’s not, he wouldn’t, but it just makes Harry’s heart hurt more. At how much he’s missed this.

The lake is almost blinding, the sunlight reflected off of it, and Harry focuses on that. “By the time I found them, it was already a lot of the way through the year, and they’d already made friends, and I didn’t fit. I didn’t fit anywhere.” He snorts. “Never thought I’d say this, did you?”

“I didn’t,” Zayn admits. He sounds much more awake now, and his hand is rubbing over Harry’s thigh, grounding. “Really? No one? But you’re….you.”

“That’s what I thought too.” Harry bites his lip. He hasn’t said this before, except at three AM to himself. He doesn’t think he could, anywhere but in the bright early morning, with Zayn pressed up against him. “But, like. It wasn’t high school, you know? They weren’t…I was just wrong for them, I guess.”

“They were wrong for you,” Zayn corrects, fierce. God, Harry loves him, loves that belief. “Have you felt that alone the whole year?”

Harry can’t say it, but he nods. He hates feeling this young, like he’s one of his kids, but it’s so true, and he just—it feels so good to say it, finally. To say it to someone, and know they love him anyway.

“Shit,” Zayn swears, his hand coming up to Harry’s cheek.

“And I know it’s not—like, you and Liam had to deal with this all the time,” Harry starts to babble. He’s not going to cry, he’s not.

“You’re not me. Thankfully,” Zayn adds, and Harry gives a weak laugh. “But, fuck, Harry. That sucks.”

“And I was failing Calc, and I couldn’t get help.” It’s all coming out now, a miserable counterpoint to the birds chirping and the waves lapping against the shore, to Zayn’s hand on Harry’s cheek, not quite forcing Harry to turn his head to look at Zayn, but letting him know he can if he wants to. “There just wasn’t anyone, and it didn’t make sense, and I couldn’t—I didn’t know how to make that work. And it was just so fucking cold, all the time, and I couldn’t even go into the city because it was so cold, and it was so lonely and god, I hated it so much.” It comes out on a sob despite himself, and Harry swears to himself. He thought he was done with this. He’s done with that place, he is.

“Haz.” This time Zayn’s hand is a little more forceful, and it turns Harry, so he’s looking right into Zayn’s eyes, big and sparkling in the morning sun. “Want me to go kick their asses?”

Harry snorts. His eyes are a little wet, but he blinks the tears away. “The whole school’s?”

“Sure. Anyone who made you feel like shit.” Zayn’s grin flashes, then he sobers. His fingers drags across Harry’s cheekbone, like he’s wiping away the tears Harry didn’t let fall. “But, like. I know a bit about, you know. Not fitting in. And it’s stupid, but it does get better? You’ll make friends next year, yeah?”

“I’m transferring.” Harry has to say it, he knows. He can’t let Zayn not know that, after all this. And he wants to prove to Zayn that he can fix it. Prove to himself that he really is done with that fucking place. “I’ve been accepted and everything.”  

“That’s great, babe!” Zayn does grin properly then, and it feels like the sunrise when he smiles, how it spreads over his face, crinkles his eyes and his nose. “So you can make new friends there. And you will. They were just all fucktards, like. Anyone else should fall to the Styles charm.”

Will you? It’s the perfect opening, and Harry knows he should tell Zayn, should say it. I’ll be at your school next year. I know I’ll make friends, because people who love you have to be cool. He ought to say it, ought to let Zayn know. But before he can get up the courage, Zayn keeps talking. “And if not, you’ve always got me. Or, like. Us,” he adds, quickly, when Harry looks up to see his face. He can’t tell if Zayn’s blushing or not, with Zayn’s face still a little flushed from sleep, and how he hurries on, the words tripping over each other. “You could have told me. ‘Specially if it had to do with coming out.”

Harry looks back out over the lake. Zayn’s being amazing about this, of course he is, but still—it’s humiliating. “You were having such a good time. Didn’t want to bring you down.”

“Fuck that. You can, like. I’m always here for you, yeah?” Zayn’s not looking at Harry either, staring out at the lake. “Next year, if it gets shit again, just give me a call.” He shoots Harry a sidelong glance. “The Merry Men, yeah? We take care of our own.”

“None of them were exactly Guy of Gisbourne,” Harry retorts.

“Not even your douchebag of a roommate?” Zayn makes a face. “I think I’d like to shoot a bow at him, a bit.”

Harry has to smile at that, and it feels clean, like the dew’s washed it too. “Thanks for the thought, Will Scarlet,” he laughs, and pulls him in for a kiss instead, with the morning light settling around them. There’s nothing hurried about the kiss, nothing urgent—they both know it can’t go anywhere, with the whole camp asleep behind them, it’s just them, just Zayn’s hand on Harry’s neck and Harry’s on his shoulders and their lips and the warmth of the sun burning away the dew.

They keep kissing until there’s a burst of noise from the fields behind them.

“Guess people are awake,” Harry says, when he lets Zayn go.

Zayn blinks. He looks a little dazed, and Harry can’t help his pleased smirk at that. “Sane people, you mean,” he retorts, and Harry laughs as he gets to his feet, then holds his hands out to pull Zayn up too. Zayn groans, but lets him, though he makes Harry do most of the work of pulling him up. It does mean Harry has an excuse not to let go, though, when he’s standing, just keeps their hands together as they walk back to where Harry can see a mop of dark hair he thinks is Kevin standing up.

“Looks like I’ve got to go,” Harry says, and because no one’s looking, he presses a quick kiss to Zayn’s cheek before he lets go of him to go get Kevin before he looks too lost.

He steals a glance back, though, when he gets to Kevin. Zayn’s got a hand pressed to his cheek, and he’s smiling—but it’s the same smile he always gives Harry. Harry knows he should be thankful it’s not pity, or something else, after Harry unloaded everything on him, but…he’d love something more, that feels more like the besottedness Harry has when he thinks about Zayn.

As soon as Zayn sees Harry looking at him, he moves his hand, then wrinkles up his nose and makes a face before he picks his way over to sink down next to Liam. Liam’s awake too, and even though he slings an arm over Zayn’s shoulder, he’s just looking at Harry, and he doesn’t look entirely pleased. Harry makes his own face at him, that gets Liam to smile, then goes about making sure Kevin makes it to a bathroom in time.

\---

They’ve gotten lucky with the weather, Harry knows. Usually they don’t have a rainless week, let alone two and a half weeks. But by the next Wednesday, there’s finally a day when the rain outweighs the kids’ enthusiasm for getting muddy. They stick it out as best they can with inside activities—Harry and Monique and a bunch of kids make the whole camp cookies, Zayn recruits Vanessa and Louis for the arts and crafts cabin, where they’re starting work on sets for the talent show that’ll be in a week and a half, and Niall and Liam lead a music class—but inside days are always antsy.

Or at least, Harry feels antsy. But he’s never liked being cooped up, being forced to stay in one place—which is why in retrospect, maybe, going to a school where you were snowed in for most of the year was a bad idea—so after lunch and clean up, he escapes the kitchen for the arts and crafts cabin.

It’s a bit of a mess in there, but a controlled sort of chaos. Or at least, Zayn doesn’t seem worried, from where he’s leaning over Jessica’s part of a backdrop, guiding her brush to make what looks like a flower. Harry, because he’s not weird, doesn’t stare at Zayn’s ass as he does.

“You could blink,” Vanessa points out, sidling up next to him. Harry jumps.

“What?”

“He’s not going to disappear, if you blink,” she explains, not bothering to hide her laughter. Harry sticks his tongue out, then shakes his head, so his hair sheds the droplets on it, hitting her.

“Hey!” she yelps, then slaps at his arm. “Asshole.”

“But you love me,” he assures her. He’s never been as close to her as Zayn has, but they’ve always been friendly. And even if they never had any friendly hook ups, like he’d had with some of her friends, back when they were at camp, he knows she likes him.

“Just behave yourself around the children.”

“Behaving?” Harry doesn’t jump this time, because Zayn’s fingers in his hair, tugging on a curl, is as natural to him as breathing. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“That’s what I said,” Harry agrees, beaming at him. Zayn’s concession to the slight chill was a flannel shirt open over his t-shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. It’s basically an invitation for Harry to take it off of him. “Behaving’s overrated.”

“Not traumatizing children is not, though,” she retorts. Zayn makes his biggest pout at her, and Harry takes his cue from that, big eyes and jutting lip. “You two are menaces,” she informs them. “I liked you better when you were just trying to hook up with me,” she tells Harry, rolling her eyes, and flounces away, to another table.

Harry sticks his tongue out at her back. But Zayn lets go of Harry, steps back. That’s unacceptable, but the kids are around, so Harry just grabs his hand. “Did you?” Zayn asks, suddenly.

“What?”

“You and Vanessa. Did—like, before—”

“Hm?” It takes a Harry a second to decipher but then he grins, relieved. This one’s easy. “Nah. She never would. I think one of the other girls must have had a crush on me, or something, ‘cause she said something about betrayal, once, few years ago. I stopped trying after that. Not worth it for a summer romance, you know?”

Zayn nods, absently. He’s still looking down at their hands. “Yeah, figured she’d have told…” he trails off, then shakes his head. “So, what’re you doing here?”

It doesn’t feel worth pressing. Harry knows Vanessa and Zayn tell each other most things, anyway. “Just wanted to see you,” he admits. Then he has to add, in case they’re busy or something, “That okay?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Zayn smiles softly at Harry, his thumb rubbing across Harry’s hand. He keeps on doing that, since Harry told him about last year. Like he knows Harry needs to be reassured he’s there. It’s nice, and Harry loves how Zayn knows what he needs without telling him, but it makes him feel a bit like Zayn thinks of him as one of his campers, who needs to be taken care of, and he doesn’t want that. He wants Zayn to think of him as so much more. “You know I always want, like. I always want you here.”

Harry smirks. He’ll show Zayn he’s not one of his boys. “How’d you like to have me here, then?” he purrs, licking his lips.

It gets a laugh out of Zayn, a flash of heat in his gaze. “Haz—no, Mariah,” he cuts himself off, looking around Harry at where one of the girls, bored probably of being inside and of painting the sky both, had moved on to her hand. “No, stop, don’t.”

“But I’m done with the sky,” she whines, drawing another line of paint onto her arm. “It’s just blue, it’s boring.”

“Do you want some paper, then?” Zayn suggests. “Paint is for paper, not you. We don’t draw on ourselves.”

“Really?” Harry asks, and turns over Zayn’s forearm, so the ZAP is bright in the incandescent bulbs. He hadn’t realized until last year how much he liked tattoos, when there was one guy in the LGBT club who’d had them and Harry couldn’t look away. The guy had been a bit of a jerk, had laughed at Harry’s stories and then talked about how he liked the aesthetic of the Chinese he’d had written on his hip, but there was something about the ink on skin that fascinated Harry. And Zayn wasn’t an asshole. “No drawing on ourselves?”

Mariah’s eyes narrow. “Did you draw on you?” she demands. Zayn glares at Harry, then,

“No, this is different, and something you can’t do til your older, ‘cause it doesn’t come off. This paint isn’t for people.”

“Fine,” she sighs, and accepts the paper Zayn slides under her brush. Harry doesn’t let go of Zayn’s arm, though, just draws his finger up it, tracing over the letters.

“You got a bunch more,” he observes. Last he’d seen Zayn, he’d just had the one for his grandfather. They haven’t had a chance for Harry to explore and see any hidden ones, though.

“Yeah, ‘s kinda a thing. Dunno. Might do a whole sleeve someday, I think.” Zayn’s voice is a little hoarse. Harry smiles to himself, and continues his inspection, out over the burst around the letters. It’s so unabashedly Zayn, there on his arm—bright colors and superheroes and a uniqueness Zayn never bothered to hide, but only now got the courage to brand onto him. “Why? You want some?”

“Dunno, maybe.” Harry looks up from his perusal. Zayn’s watching him intently enough it makes him shiver. That’s the kind of look he wants from Zayn. “Think I’d look good with ink? ”

Zayn opens his mouth—then closes it again, then his lips twist into his mischievous smile that Harry knows well enough to get away from. “Let’s see,” he laughs, and Harry’s a little too enthralled by how his eyes are actually sparkling to avoid the brush Zayn grabs from somewhere, flicking a line of paint across his cheek.

“Hey!” Harry yelps, scrambling backwards, but Zayn twists so he’s pinned against the table. Mariah looks up, intrigued, and everyone else is starting to watch too, but Zayn ignores them, holding Harry’s face still as the brush moves across Harry’s forehead. “Zayn!” He can’t tell if he’s wiggling closer or trying to get away, but he’s definitely laughing, and Zayn’s hand’s on his chin, keeping him steady, his tongue tucked between this teeth. The rest of the room is laughing too, watching with interest.

“I’m experimenting,” Zayn retorts, the brush moving. Harry can’t even feel what he’s doing, really, but he does know he’s very close and also he’s an asshole, because he might not be Louis but there are even odds Harry’s going to come out of this was a dick on his face.

“Zayn…” Vanessa warns from across the room, through her giggles.

“Almost done!” Zayn waves the brush back, then draws one final line before letting go of Harry. “There. A masterpiece, yeah?”

“I thought you said these weren’t for drawing on us,” Mariah comments innocently, as Harry hurries to the closest reflective surface—a window—to look at what’s on his face.

“They aren’t,” Vanessa confirms, in the background. “Zayn’s just being bad. He does that sometimes.”

Harry knows he should probably throw in an innuendo, but he’s too busy looking at his reflection. There, in big bold lettering on his forehead, like Harry Potter’s scar, is, ‘I <3 ZAYN’

“Don’t worry, Vanessa,” Zayn’s laughing, darting away when she slaps him. “I’m done being bad.”

“Just because you felt the need to express yourself—”

“It comes off! He just need to wash his face!”

“I don’t know, I like it.”

Harry turns around in time to see Zayn freeze, almost trip over a bench, and grab onto the table to steady himself. It’s the clumsiest Harry’s ever seen him. “What?” Zayn demands.

“I think I’ll keep it,” Harry goes on, grinning. Two people can play at this game. “What do you think, Mariah? Think it looks good?” he winks at her, and she nods. “Vanessa?”

She’s glaring at Zayn, but it twists into something teasing. “Yeah, defs. Looks good on you.”

“Haz—”

“As you said,” Harry gives Zayn his cheekiest smile, because Zayn looks somewhere between pleased and terrified. “It’s a masterpiece.”

\---

“How long are you planning to keep that?”

“Shush.” Harry reaches behind himself to press his fingers to Zayn’s lips. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie.”

He can almost feel Zayn roll his eyes, but Harry ignores him. It’s nice, here, leaning against Zayn’s chest in the nest of cushions they’ve made in the mess hall. It’s the standard rainy night movie—Young Frankenstein—and Harry must have seen it a million times, must have even watched it like this a million times, curled up with Zayn on one side and Louis on the other, but it’s different this time. This time, he’s really sitting _with_ Zayn, like Liam and Sophia are sitting too close a little ways away, their fingers intertwined. It’s different. For one, he keeps his fingers on Zayn’s lips, even after he’s stopped talking, because he likes how Zayn’s lips feel. For another, he doesn’t have any shame in inhaling, breathing in that Zayn scent. He’s missed this, the cuddles. Real cuddles. Zayn’s always been the best at cuddling.

“You two are disgusting,” Louis mutters. Harry glares, and Zayn takes his arm from around Harry’s waist to punch his shoulder. Louis swears lowly. “I’m just saying. You’re as bad as those two.” He nods at Sophia and Liam. “Niall, come cuddle with me.”

“You’ve got a girlfriend. I’m the only single one,” Niall retorts. He’s lying on his back at their feet, stretched from Zayn to Louis.

“Don’t worry, Nialler. We still love you.” Zayn leans over Harry to press a smacking kiss to Niall’s forehead.

“Definitely still my favorite,” Harry agrees, and pulls Zayn’s arm back to where it should be, around his waist. “You just don’t put out like this one does.”

“Not what your forehead says,” Louis puts in, and Harry laughs. He’d proudly and unabashedly let everyone tease him about the words all through dinner, even if Zayn rolled his eyes and Liam had eyed it a little warily before pulling Zayn away to whisper intently to him, before Zayn had ended the conversation with a shrug and come back to Harry.  

“Not what your mom says,” Harry retorts, and Zayn snorts into his hair.

“Good one.”

“I know.” Harry tilts his head back to grin at him, this time. He likes this. Maybe this is what next year will be like, the two of them curled up on a couch together, watching a movie. Of course, if Harry was in a dorm room alone with Zayn, he’s not sure they’d be watching the movie long. Not when Harry could start distracting Zayn by kissing up his neck, pulling down at his t-shirt to get his collarbone before moving up. Zayn would probably pretend to ignore him for a while, that he was watching the movie, because he’s mean like that, so then Harry would have to just give up pretenses, push him back onto the couch so Harry could straddle his hips, kiss him properly. Zayn wouldn’t be ignoring him then, he’d have his hands in Harry’s hair first, then yanking at his shirt so it came off, so he could touch everywhere. Harry’d get Zayn sitting up too, so he could get his shirt off, then it would be even better, their bare skin against each other. They could go back to the bedroom, but Harry thinks they wouldn’t, even if someone might come in. He likes that edge of danger, and he thinks Zayn would too, so instead of going anywhere he’d get Zayn’s cock out there, on the couch, the movie playing in the background. It—

“Hey.” Zayn’s voice is a soft murmur in his ear, and Harry starts, remembering where he is. Fuck. He’s half hard in his jeans now, just from imagining, but they’re surrounded by kids. “How attached are you to this movie?”

“Not very. Why?”

“’cause, like. Everyone’s here, and will be for at least an hour.”

It takes Harry a second to get it, but when he does, he sits up straight. Zayn’s brilliant.

“You’re brilliant,” he tells Zayn, in an undertone, and tries to be as inconspicuous as he can when he gets to his feet, Zayn right behind him. He doesn’t think they succeed, because Niall shoots them a lazy thumbs up and Louis hoots “get some!” in a whisper and Liam grins as they leave, and Harry thinks he even catches sight of Paul rolling his eyes as they slip out the back door, but Harry doesn’t really care.

“Where to?”

Zayn glances out through the window. The rain’s not quite the downpour it had turned into during dinner, but it’s still coming down pretty hard. “Um.”

“What, no plan?” Harry teases, but he tightens his hand on Zayn’s. They can’t stay here, if they want to do anything fun, unless they go to a closet or something. But Harry’s had his share of closet hook ups, and he wants more than that. Brooms always hit the most uncomfortable places.

“Didn’t think it all the way through,” Zayn admits. He glances around, then he’s pressing Harry against the wall of the hall, his leg between Harry’s thigh, his mouth so close to Harry’s ear he can feel his lips. “Just wanted to get my hands on you. Don’t have that much longer.”

Fuck. “It’s not raining that hard,” Harry decides, and lets Zayn laugh. “Your cabin’s closer, come on.”

“We’re never going to stop getting ragged on for this,” Zayn points out, but he doesn’t object as Harry opens the door, tugs him outside. It’s not raining that hard, really, but it’s enough that they both run down the path to the cabins, Harry pulling Zayn along because he’s faster and maybe hornier than him. Harry almost slips in the mud about halfway there, but Zayn’s hands are on his hips, steadying him, and he just grins over his shoulder before they hurry on. Harry’s sneakers squelch in the mud, and he can feel them filling up with water, and his hair’s sticking to his neck, and it’s sort of cold, and he doesn’t care at all, because Zayn’s skin is wet and warm under his hand.

Zayn gets to the door first, yanks it open, and lets Harry through before he slams the door behind him. They aren’t actually drenched, not properly, and the rain feels good on Harry’s cheeks, but they’re still dripping.

“That was fun,” Zayn drawls. He’s still holding Harry’s hand. “Want, like, a towel or something?” The rain’s matted his hair down to his face, but instead of looking like a wet dog like Harry’s pretty sure he does, he just looks elegant, the droplets of water dripping from his hair down his neck, over his collarbone, before being absorbed into his regrettably not white shirt.  

“Huh?” Harry’s a little distracted by the way his hair is shining.

“To dry off,” Zayn explains. “Or warm up, I guess. ’cause, like. Rain.”

“I can think of a better way to do that,” Harry tells him, then he pulls him close enough that he can trail his lips over the stupid drops off water going down Zayn’s neck. Zayn’s head tilts back, and Harry can feel his breath hitch in his chest.

“So that’s a no to dry clothes, too?” Zayn’s trying for nonchalant, but Harry can feel him shiver when Harry swirls his tongue behind his ear. He tastes like rainwater, which isn’t actually a very good taste, but it is because it’s Zayn.

“I don’t want to be putting on more clothes.” Harry hums against Zayn’s skin as Zayn’s hands find their way up Harry’s shirt, separating the wet fabric from his back. “At all.”

“’course you don’t, you never like clo—fuck,” Zayn swears, as Harry pushes down Zayn’s shirt to suck lightly at his chest. They can’t leave marks really, with kids everywhere, but this is good enough. “Fuck this.” He grabs the edge of Harry’s shirt, and pulls at it. Harry stops his exploration of all the skin he can find in favor of letting Zayn take his shirt off. While he’s there, he figures it’s only efficient that he kiss Zayn, and take off his too, trying to keep kissing Zayn while they both hinder each other in getting Zayn’s flannel off. It’s worth it, though, for the kiss, and when the flannel finally hits the ground Zayn’s hands are everywhere, moving slowly but thoroughly over Harry’s back.

 “Not done yet,” Harry mutters, before Zayn can kiss him again, and then Zayn’s shirt’s off properly. Harry’s seen him shirtless before, every summer since they were eight, and neither of them have ever been body shy, but still. It’s different, when Harry wants to touch. When Harry knows he wants to.

He looks up from his staring to see Zayn staring too, hungrily, like he’s never seen Harry before. His mouth gapes open, and Harry can see him swallow, before he meets Harry’s gaze.

“I never…” Zayn breathes, then he pulls their mouths together again, and Harry spreads his hands over Zayn’s sides, his waist, trails them down his hips, trying to pay attention to all the lines of Zayn when Zayn’s doing the same to him, curving his fingers just enough that there’s a bit of nails, and also when his tongue’s bleeding Harry’s brains out.

Harry’s so caught up in the—the everything—that he makes a sound that isn’t quite a squeal when Zayn’s hand presses against his growing erection, but that turns very quickly into a groan, as Zayn squeezes lightly.

“Um.” Zayn’s almost entirely distracting, his lips swollen and his cheeks flushed and all ink and skin, but his eyes are very serious as he looks at Harry, and his hand’s still teasingly near Harry’s jeans zip. “Yeah?”

“You’ve had your hands on me before,” Harry points out. He doesn’t know why they’re pausing. Harry wants to see if the heart on Zayn’s hip tastes different.

“But not, like. Off.” Zayn lets go of Harry’s waist to rub his ear. “Do you want—I mean, we haven’t, and, like, I don’t want to do anything you don’t want, and…”

“We finally have time, of course I want to.” Harry has to smile, though, at Zayn’s caution. Always taking care of him, even when he’s an asshole too. That’s why this is good. Why it’ll be better than any of those assholes at school. “You too, though.”

“Yeah.” Zayn’s hand’s moved to his own jeans now. They’re standing a little ways apart, and Harry can’t not look at Zayn’s hand, at where his cock’s clearly hard in his jeans. “So, like. Same time?”

“Nervous?” Harry has to laugh. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Though, now that he thinks about it, Zayn’s been shier than the others about that recently. Harry always figured it was something about not wanting to push them, or anything, that he was quicker to change, turning his back whenever they had to.

“I’m not the one who runs around naked all the time.” Without his shirt on, Harry can see Zayn’s chest go in and out as he breathes. “Okay. Shoes first, yeah?”

“Probably.” They both kick off their sneakers, and Harry peels off his socks as fast as he can, because that’s not sexy at all.

“So…” Zayn starts, but Harry’s tried of waiting.  

“Okay,” he repeats, and undoes his jeans. He tries to shimmy seductively out of them, but they’re a little too tight for that, so Harry’s blushing a little as he stumbles, luckily not looking at Zayn until he’s managed to get upright again.

Zayn must have taken that as his cue, because his jeans are at his feet, along with his Batman boxers, and he’s—Harry swallows. He’s seen men naked before. He’s seen Zayn naked before. But he’s just so gorgeous, all of him, even his cock, hard and dark and cut, which Harry hasn’t really dealt with before, and it’s a whole new side of Zayn and Harry wants it.

Zayn’s staring at Harry too, wide-eyed, something nervous in his face, with his eyebrows drawn together as his gaze drags up Harry’s legs, over his thighs and chest, then back down to his cock, then up again to his face, like he doesn’t know where to look first. Harry can’t help his smile, because he likes this part. Where he can see how much Zayn wants him.

“Fucking hell, Harry, you—you’re more than I imagined,” Zayn mutters, then he’s stepped forward and they’re kissing, pressed together chest to thigh and Harry can feel Zayn’s cock against his thigh and his is catching on Zayn and it’s all so much, and he just wants to be closer, so he grabs at Zayn’s hair with one hand to pull him in, as his other strokes over all the skin he can find.

Zayn keeps kissing him, and they stumble backwards until they hit Zayn’s bed. Harry wishes he was smooth enough to just fall back onto it, but he’s really not, and they go down in a pile of limbs and elbows that has Zayn swearing in less of a good way and Harry making faces because something’s definitely stabbing him in the side.

It takes a few seconds of Zayn digging the book out of the bed to drop on the floor and Harry scooting up the bed to lie there properly, so Zayn can straddle his hips, looking at him.

Harry presses his lips together, looks away. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“About what?” Zayn’s voice is a little choked. Harry hopes not from anything his elbows did.

“That whole falling thing. It wasn’t very sexy.” Harry doesn’t want to look at Zayn as he says it, but he can’t not look at Zayn, so he settles with staring at his chest, how it’s tanned and almost gold.

“You’re sexy.” Zayn’s voice is firm, and full of conviction, and Harry still doesn’t really look at him but it’s hard not to, when his hand’s tracing over Harry’s chest, circling his nipples, trailing down his abs, down to his navel. Harry shivers, squirms under him, and then he has to look. Zayn’s staring at him not just like he’s hot, because Harry knows that look, but like he’s in awe, like he can’t look away, as his hands spread out over Harry’s stomach, Harry’s tan and the slight olive tinge of Zayn’s skin a stark contrast. “Fuck, Harry…” His hand runs down Harry’s thighs. “Can I…” He trails off, like he’s too shy to say it, but instead he presses his tongue into his cheek, and Harry thinks he sees white just at the thought.

“Yes, fuck, please.” He can’t help his frantic nod. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go—this isn’t how it usually goes, Harry’s smooth in bed, he can be, but Zayn’s taking that to pieces. Harry can’t bring himself to mind though, when Zayn laughs, still with that look in his eyes, and drops a kiss onto Harry’s lips before he starts down Harry’s chest, kissing and licking and sucking. He stays at Harry’s nipples for a torturously long time, circling first one, then the other, with his tongue, alternating the heat of that with cold air blown on it, or even a cheeky tweak with his fingers, watching Harry as he arches against his fingers like he’s trying to study him.

Harry’s already a mess by the time Zayn gets to his cock, moaning loud enough it’s good no one else is around, because there’s no mistaking the sound he makes when Zayn finally wraps his lips around him. It’s—Harry never doubted Zayn would be good, because he’s Zayn, but it’s as good as any blow job Harry’s ever gotten, how he works his lips and tongue, how the hand not holding Harry’s hips down strokes over the base of his cock, then to his balls, then back again. And when Harry looks down it’s the best thing he’s ever seen too, Zayn glancing up at him through his eyelashes, his lips on the head of Harry’s cock, smirking a little when he tongues at the slit and Harry swears, his head dropping back down onto the pillow. Somehow, his hands have found their way to Zayn’s hair, tightening in them whenever Zayn does something particularly mind-numbing, and Zayn hums around Harry’s cock whenever that happens and it only makes it better. 

Zayn keeps him on the edge for what feels like hours, teasing, and somehow Harry’s not surprised by that, that Zayn likes to tease, but it’s the best, pleasure curling in his fingertips and his toes and his belly.

“’m close,” he warns, when he can feel the orgasm rising in him, his muscles tensing, “Zayn—” He tugs a little, so Zayn knows, but Zayn shakes his head, tightens his mouth around Harry, and sucks hard and his other hand pushes lightly at Harry’s hole, and Harry comes on a shout and a groan, Zayn’s mouth warm and hot around him.

He manages to open his eyes, when he feels Zayn’s mouth sliding off of his softening cock. Zayn looks—his hair’s messier than Harry’s ever seen it, and his lips are swollen and red, and his eyes are dark, and there’s a bit of white at the corner of his lips that Harry can’t look away from, even when his tongue flashes out to lick it away.

“Knew all that fruit you ate would come in handy someday,” Zayn says. His voice is a little hoarse, and moving sounds like the worst thing in the world but somehow Harry manages it, grabbing at Zayn to bring him closer so he can kiss him. The taste of come isn’t the best, but just thinking about how it’s Harry’s in Zayn’s mouth, feeling how hard Zayn is on his thigh as they kiss from getting Harry off—it makes it good.

Zayn keeps kissing Harry, reaches down their bodies—and no, that’s not okay. He’s not useless. And he wants to get his mouth on Zayn.

“No, my turn,” Harry announces, and with great effort manages to roll them over. Zayn lands on his back, his eyes wide.

“You don’t have—”

“Shush.” Harry pushes his fingers to Zayn’s lips, then settles between his legs. Zayn’s got a nice cock, he thinks, licking up the vein. He could get used to it. He presses his lips to the head, then down the side.

“Harry, please, come on, I’m close—your mouth—I never thought it’d—please God Harry please—” Zayn’s loud, a constant stream of swearing and noises, babbling and squirming and not quite begging. Harry glances up to judge Zayn’s reaction. Zayn’s just staring, his face a little slack as his mouth moves. There’s a look that’s different, that’s not one Harry got when they were just friends. Harry gives himself a self-satisfied metaphorical pat on the back. And, well. He might not know the sort of tricks Zayn does, but people have told him things about his lips, and his mouth, and he knows a thing or two.

He waits until Zayn’s quivering a little, then takes him in his mouth, as far as he can go—and if there’s one thing Harry’s learned in the past year, it’s that even if guys don’t appreciate anything else about him, they appreciate his lack of gag reflex.

“Holy shit,” Zayn chokes out, as Harry sucks. He’s still just staring, not even touching Harry’s hair, which is a pity, but he’ll take that look, big and dazed and desperate, and the sight of Zayn all a mess with his muscles tensing. “Shit, Harry, you’re—I couldn’t—fucking hell—”

He reaches down, and Harry thinks he’s going to grab Harry’s head to push him down more, which is something some guys have done and Harry doesn’t mind, really, but instead he just cups the side of Harry’s face, so his thumb rubs over Harry’s forehead, over the letters still there. “God, Harry, I—I’m close, don’t—fucking hell, your mouth—oh god—gonna, fuck—”

Reluctantly, Harry drags his lips off of Zayn, because he hasn’t managed swallowing yet and he doesn’t want to choke and look like an idiot, and gets his hand on Zayn instead, pressing his lips to Zayn’s hips, his stomach, as he jerks him off, until Zayn’s swearing peters out into an inarticulate moan that Harry thinks is his name and he comes over Harry’s hand, his eyes barely closing for an instant before they’re open and staring at Harry again.

 Zayn falls back onto the bed, as Harry grins to himself, and grabs for Zayn’s laundry to wipe his hand off on. Zayn’s laundry is inconveniently under the bed, so it takes more time and more awkward contorting than Harry would have liked, and by the time he’s managed it, Zayn’s eyes are open again, still looking at Harry.

“Clean up,” Harry tells him, and throws the t-shirt at Zayn. Zayn catches it, mopping off his stomach. He keeps stealing shy glances at Harry as he does, which Harry notices mainly because he can’t quite look away. Zayn’s gorgeous like this too, loose and fucked out, and Harry thinks—he has to be looking at Harry a little differently. Probably. Harry thinks. He knows neither of them can stop smiling.

“So, we should—want to go to the movie?” Harry asks, when Zayn tosses the t-shirt back down onto the floor. He doesn’t know the protocol here. He hasn’t—should he stay? Does Zayn want him too?

Zayn raises his eyebrows, and stretches out his arm. “Do you really think I’m not a cuddler?” he demands, sounding offended, and Harry laughs, and throws himself back down. This is why Zayn’s wonderful. And they just fit, somehow, with Harry’s head on Zayn’s shoulder, so Harry can trace over his ribs and Zayn can play with his hair.

“Definitely better than the movie.”

Zayn snorts. “Bit, yeah. I mean, how many times have we watched it?”

“I don’t usually stick around to the end,” Harry admits. Movies were always great times for sneaking off. To do, well, this, usually. Zayn’s hand stills in his hair, then keeps going. “Isn’t there lightning?”

“I think so. ‘m usually asleep.”

Harry has to laugh at that, especially when, when he tilts his head up, Zayn’s eyes are half-lidded, like he is falling asleep.

 “We could set an alarm, take a nap,” he suggests. Zayn will want him here while they sleep. He knows he will.

“Sorry.” Zayn opens his eyes wide. “’m a bit useless, sometimes. Like, after.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.” If Harry stretches, he can just manage to grab his pants, and in them, his cell phone. He puts an alarm for ten minutes before he thinks the movie will end—then thinks better of it, and adds another ten minutes leeway. Zayn takes a while to wake up. “I make you useless?”

“Could say so.” Zayn’s already rolling over, pressing his front to Harry’s back, so Harry can nestle back into him. They’ve slept together before, Harry knows how they fit, but it’s all a bit different when they’re naked and doing it. When Harry can still feel the ache in his jaw.

“Glad I was good,” Harry intertwines his fingers with Zayn’s, brings them to his chest. Zayn doesn’t seem to object, just curls in closer. 

“Even better than I imagined,” Zayn murmurs. His breath is going slower, steady against Harry’s neck. He’s always dropped off that quickly. “Didn’t think it could be, but ‘course you managed it.” 

He’s asleep before Harry can reply. Harry knows what Zayn feels like asleep, and that’s it. He’s not faking. He’s asleep, and he said—he’d imagined it. Of course he had, with how they’d been going at it, but…he’d thought about Harry’s mouth. And he’d looked at Harry, like he was amazing, like he couldn’t believe Harry was there, like he was everything. Not like he had done when they were friends.

But you don’t trust anything during sex. Harry knows that. Everyone likes you when you’re sucking them off, or eating them out, or fucking them. He’s learned that well enough. He just needs Zayn to look at him like that other times.

He wanted Harry to stay, though. He wants him with him. Of course he does. Harry decides to focus on that, closes his eyes, and tightens his grip on Zayn’s hand until he falls asleep too.

\---

“Hey, Haz.”

“Hey Liam!” Harry grins as Liam settles down next to him. He’s been spending his free afternoon trying to read a little, to get caught up on some of the core classes he’ll have to take next year to be caught up, but he’s happy to put his book down. It’s hard to concentrate anyway, when the kids are shrieking as they play in the lake and the sun’s warm on his skin. He supposes he could have gone inside, but he likes it better out here, sitting on a chair on the dock. “What’s up? You free too?”

Liam nods as he settles down on the chair next to Harry. He looks good, Harry has to notice. He’s always been fit, ever since he realized that working out helped stop the bullying, but college has given him something too. Made him easier in his skin, taken away some of the nervousness he’d always had, where he’d always seemed to second guess everything he did. “Yeah. Didn’t have anything else to do.”

“So you wanted to come down to watch the kids? Or someone else?” Harry teases, jerking his head over to where Sophia’s lounging in the lifeguard chair, one long, tanned leg crossed over the other. Liam goes red as he follows his gaze.

“No!” he yelps. “I mean, she’s beautiful, but I didn’t come here to stare or anything.”

“I don’t think she’d mind if you did.” Sophia must sense them talking about her, because she turns to look, raising an eyebrow. Harry gives her a cheerful smile, and Liam raises his hand in an endearingly awkward wave. “You could take your shirt off. I bet she’d appreciate that.”

“I—really?”

Harry blinks. “I’ve seen you guys sneaking away. You must know she appreciates it.”

Liam rubs at the back of his neck, glancing away. “Yeah, but, that’s different. It’s not like she’d be just looking.”

“You’re very nice to look at.” Harry pats Liam’s knee. “Trust me, I’m invested now.” He pauses, then adds, in his most tempting voice, “You know you want to…. Give her some eye candy.”

“You’re awful,” Liam laughs, but he also takes his shirt off, so Harry counts it as a win—especially because he notices Sophia looking, even if Liam doesn’t. “Why’s your shirt off, then?”

“I need a tan.” Harry stretches, arching his back. “And we can’t get away with sunbathing naked.”

Liam snorts. “Thank god. No one wants to see your dick.”

“Not what your mom said,” Harry retorts. Liam makes a face, and yeah, on second thought. Harry likes Karen Payne, but that’s weird. “Well, Zayn says differently, anyway.”

Liam’s face twists. It wasn’t a good comeback, Harry can admit that, but he’s not sure it merits that sort of look, like Lima’s conflicted. “What?”

“Nothing.” It’s a ‘nothing’ like Harry’s mom sometimes says ‘nothing’, in a way that very much means something. It’s ‘nothing’ like Harry was ‘fine.’

“Liam,” Harry whines. They’re supposed to be best friends. Liam’s not Louis, and Harry’s not Zayn, but they should still be able to tell each other everything. They have to be able to. “Come on, what? Is something wrong with Zayn?”

“No.” Liam bites on his lip, his brow furrowed like he gets when he’s worried. “I…just be careful with him, okay?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Zayn and Liam have always been so protective of each other. “Are you going to give me the ‘don’t you dare hurt him’ speech, Li? ‘cause I’m kind of offended you think I need it.”

“No—well, not exactly.” Liam’s not biting his lip anymore. He just looks serious, in a way that doesn’t fit with the bright sunlight and his red swim trunks. “But you’re…you do the camp romances more than him, right? So just be careful with that. Don’t lead him on.”

Harry blinks. “This isn’t a camp romance.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” Or, Harry doesn’t want it to be. Wasn’t planning on it. “Is it?”

“He—” Liam cuts himself off, in a way that makes it clear what the end of that sentence was going to be. But that explains everything! Zayn thought this was just a camp fling, like Harry always does, just getting off together. That’s why he isn’t looking at Harry any differently, because he doesn’t think he should do more. So Harry just has to show him that he’s more than that…Which means, probably, to tell him. Tell him everything, for real. Tell him why it can be more. “Harry, what are you planning?”

Harry grins, at Liam’s worried look. “Nothing!” He gives Liam a sidelong look. “But how’d you feel about doing me a massive favor?”

\---

It doesn’t happen that night, of course, because there are processes. But by the next Saturday, Harry’s managed to get Paul’s sighing, somewhere between fond and amused, approval, and Casper’s slightly more judging and slightly more amused agreement to help, and Liam had already agreed, and Zayn had been easy to convince to take a night off when Harry phrased it right.

“Why have you been playing with your hair for so long?” James asks, his heels kicking against the bed. Harry makes a face into his mirror. He hasn’t been for that long. His hair’s just getting long enough to be a bit finicky, now.

“No reason.” Harry pushes a curl back, then decides it looks better hanging down more, and shakes his hair out again. Finally, he settles on the bandana, because there’s symbolism and also it look good. He grabs his blazer, throws it on too. It’s almost cool enough out to merit it, and it makes him look good. Then he turns around, to address his cabin. “So, boys. I know I mentioned this, but I want to remind you—I’m not going to be there tonight. If you need anything, you can go to Liam. And he’ll be staying here for most of tonight, probably.”

“Why?” Robbie demands. Harry bites his lip to keep from laughing.

“Because I’m going to be busy, so I can’t be there? But Liam’s great. He can help you brainstorm what you want to do for the talent show.”

“Why can’t we have Zayn?” Malik complains. It’s not quite temper tantrum complaining, but his jaw is jutting out dangerously.

Still, not even that is enough to keep Harry from smiling down at the blanket he’s folding. “Because he’s going to be with me.”

“Is that ‘cause he’s your boyfriend?”

Harry freezes. He hadn’t thought they had understood—and he and Zayn had never used that term, because you didn’t, at camp—

“Why do you think that?” he chokes.

Ryan grins, clearly happy to have gotten a reaction. “That’s what Jenna said. And you hold hands a lot and kiss and make faces at each other, and that’s what you do when you’re boyfriends, right?”

“Gross!” Malik makes a face.

Oh, great. Harry’s smile dies. He doesn’t want to have to undo any homophobia in the few minutes he has until he has to drop off the boys, then meet Zayn. “What’s gross, Malik?”

“Kissing!” Malik gags dramatically. “It’s gross! I don’t know why anyone would want to.”

Harry laughs, relieved. “You’ll find out someday.”

“I kissed Alana,” Aaron announces, to rising cries of disbelief from the other boys. Harry lets them argue about it as he takes one last look around, to make sure everything’s in order for Liam this evening, then a last look in the mirror, at himself. It’s simple, his jeans and white t-shirt and blazer, but he thinks it looks good.

“Okay.” He claps his hands, and the boys jump to attention. “Let’s go to dinner. Everyone ready?”

It takes them another few minutes to actually be ready, of course, but then Harry’s got them all out the door at last, and they run across the paths down to the mess hall, joining the crowds of other kids as they go. Harry tags back, making sure they all get there. And he wants to check in with Liam before he goes anywhere.

“Looking good, Styles!” Louis’s hand goes for his hair, but Harry yelps and jerks away. He spent too long on it for Louis to mess up. “Oh, I see. Too cool for me?”

“Don’t touch the hair.” Harry waves a hand at his head to make the point. Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing.

“So vain.” He punches Harry’s shoulder instead. “Ready for your big date?”

“It’s not a date,” Harry mutters. It’s not. Quite. In that he hadn’t really asked Zayn on a date, and you don’t do dates at camp. It’s just…an evening, with the two of them together, where they don’t have to be back anywhere because they have other people covering for him. But it’s not a date, because Zayn hadn’t had a chance to say no, and not saying it’s a date means it’s still camp, not reality.

“Do you have dinner?”

“Casper put something together.”

“Then it’s a date,” Louis says firmly. “Look at my little Hazza, all grown up and romancing boys.”

“I—” Harry glances around, but he doesn’t see any of Zayn’s boys yet. Vanessa’s girls are out, and she’s giving him a narrow eyed look that says very clearly she knows what he’s about tonight. “Do you think he thinks it’s a date?”

Louis shrugs. “You guys have been grossly adorable for the past two weeks. I don’t think it matters.”

“We’re not gross.”

“You really are,” Louis informs him, and Harry’s stomach flips with something that’s both pride and nerves. He likes that he and Zayn have been adorable, when they cuddle in front of the fire, or hold hands under the table, or when Harry steals a kiss and Zayn makes that over-the-top fainting face that Harry thinks might be a little real. “I can’t wait to send you off to school to gross everyone out there.”

Harry hisses in a breath, looks around. Louis’s eyebrows go up. “You haven’t told him?”

“I will.” He will. Tonight, probably. Soon. Just. Not before they start.

“Don’t know why you’re taking so long. Won’t he be happy not to have to deal with long distance?”

“It’s…we haven’t talked about it.” Haven’t talked about anything past next week, past this month of camp that’s always been theirs. “I don’t know if he wants…”

“Harry.” It’s the serious tone in Louis’s voice that makes him look at him. Louis’s got his best big brother face on, the one he gives to the kids who are struggling with home sickness, who need the serious more than the clown.  “I dunno about the romantic stuff, but any of us would be happy to be at the same school.”

“But there is the romantic part,” Harry points out. And even without it…it’s different, at camp. Being friends here. It’s different than being friends at college, or boyfriends. Harry doesn’t know what it’ll mean, the worlds colliding.

“And you’re adorable, so it’ll be fine.” Louis pats his shoulder again. “You’ll be fine. Go get ‘em, tiger!” He gives Harry’s nipples a friendly, encouraging squeeze that makes Harry squeak again, then he’s off.

Harry shifts his grip on the blanket, then goes to find Liam to confirm everything’s okay.

Liam listens to his rundown of possible problems with his concentrating face, clearly noting everything down in his head, then pats Harry’s arm, assures him they’ll be fine, and even manages to look away from Sophia enough to meet Harry’s eyes with his best earnest, I-believe-in-you look, that always makes Harry feel better. Niall gives him a thumbs up before he ducks into the mess hall as well, and it all feels like a weird sense of déjà vu, back like the first time Harry was planning to kiss Claire Scott back when they were thirteen.

Harry refuses to be nervous when Zayn’s boys come out, but he’s not there. He’s always late to everything, Harry knows that, and it’s not like he’s not going to show up. He’d agreed an evening off would be nice, anyway. Harry shakes his hair, then starts to fuss with the lapel of his blazer—

Then there are hands on his face and a body at his back, and Zayn’s lips on his cheek. Harry knows he’s grinning stupidly when Zayn lets him go, when he can turn around to look at Zayn—and it’s confirmed when Zayn reaches out to poke at his dimples.

He looks good. Harry doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it for the past ten years, or maybe he did, or maybe Zayn hadn’t, but he looks so good, in jeans and a Henley under his flannel shirt, his hair gelled back into a quiff so the blonde streak’s right there. He’s grinning too, and Harry can feel himself relaxing under that smile.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself.” Zayn’s grin fades a little, into a shyer sort of smile. “So, like. Dunno why you were so eager for a night off, but we coulda stared at each other without me having to promise Vanessa my firstborn.”

“Right!” Harry blinks, shakes his head. “Come on, we just have to pick something up. What would be your first born?”

“Hm?”  Zayn falls into step with him, as Harry circles around to the back door of the kitchen.

“Well, you said your first born, but you aren’t gonna have kids, unless something changes, right?”

“I still want kids,” Zayn protests.

“Well, obviously.” Harry rolls his eyes, pulling open the door of the kitchen. Like Casper had promised, there’s a basket right there, with a post it that says _have fun!_ on it.  Harry grins at the note, tucks it into his pocket, then closes the door.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that everyone knows you want kids.”

“Like you’re any better! I’ve seen you with Lux when Lou brings her up.”

“Yeah, but, the point is, you want kids, but you aren’t having any yourself.” Harry argues. “So if you adopt, is that a first born?”

They keep debating it as they leave the cabins behind, walking along the edge of the lake. Their hands brush until Zayn’s turning his palm, grabbing Harry’s hand, and Harry’s heart gives a painful sort of thump.

“So, where are we going?” Zayn asks, at last, as the lights of the camp fade behind them. They aren’t actually that far, but Harry wanted to make sure they were far away enough no one would stumble on them. He’d have loved to go into town, but they really aren’t allowed to leave the camp without a reason during the session. Zayn and Louis had gotten into a lot of trouble the one time they’d snuck out, and he doesn’t want to repeat that.

So this is the best he can do, smiling as enigmatically as he can as he turns inward a little bit, to a clearing Zayn had found years ago, then showed the rest of them. It’s close enough to the shore that they can see the lake through the trees, but still enclosed, and it’s the closest Harry can get to intimate like this.

Zayn watches as Harry lays out the blanket, then sits down on it, stretching out his legs.

“So we’re having a picnic?” he asks, sitting down next to Harry. He sprawls like always, somehow taking up more space than he should, cat-like. “I thought we’d be taking advantage of so much time alone.”

“We will.” Harry waggles his eyebrows. “But can’t I wine and dine you?”

“I—” Zayn cut himself off, and Harry wishes there was more light, because his expression is doing something different, something new. When he goes on, he’s quieter, looking down at the blanket. “You don’t, like. Usually. Or you haven’t, before.”  

“Is it okay?” Zayn had agreed to it—and Liam had said, about thinking this was just a camp thing—but what if Zayn didn’t want this, not really, wouldn’t want Harry past the edges of the camp. Like no one wanted him once his mouth was off them.

“Yeah! ‘s good, like.” Zayn laughs, rubs his ear. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Good.” Harry pokes at Zayn’s ankle until he looks back up, and he’s smiling. There’s something in his gaze that’s a little off, but Harry will take the smile. “Now, let’s see what Casper made us.”

He pulls out some sandwiches, two bottles of water (which get a “thought you were wining me, Styles,” from Zayn, that has Harry shoving at him until he shuts up), a Tupperware of apple slices and two brownies. It’s not the most romantic date Harry’s ever been on, but Harry can’t really complain. Zayn seems satisfied, anyway, unwrapping the sandwiches as Harry brings out the lantern at the bottom, turns it on so that the clearing is properly lit. There’s something else at the bottom, and Harry reaches in to see what it is.

“What’s up?” Zayn asks, because Harry knows he must be red, and nudges Harry’s shoulder aside to look at what he’s holding. “Hah! Casper’s got faith in us.” He takes the condom from Harry, giggling. “What’d you tell him we were doing?”

“Nothing! Just asked if he could pack a picnic for us!” Harry protests, but he’s laughing too. He’s never been good at being subtle. “Is picnic a common euphemism?”

“He knows you well enough,” Zayn teases back. He drops the condom back into the basket. “There’s lube here too, wow. He has faith in your game.”

“Yeah? What about you?” Harry smirks, and drops his hand pointedly high on Zayn’s thigh. “How much game do I need with you?”

Zayn snorts, but the look he gives Harry from under his eyelashes is a little conflicted, if Harry had to put a word to it. “Thought I was being dined first.”

“Fine.” Harry pouts, but it’s nice. He’s glad. Zayn wants more than just a quick roll around here, he wants to be dined first. That’s something.

It’s nice. It’s not the most romantic not-really-a-date-Harry-doesn’t-think he’s ever been on, but it’s nice to be really away from the kids for an evening, and to just sit and eat in the quiet of the clearing with Zayn, the only other sound the wind in the trees and the waves of the lake. It’s calm, in the way Zayn’s always made Harry, like Zayn’s own ability to carve out his own space has made one for Harry too, a place where he can just breathe. And Harry always has things to talk about with Zayn, whether it’s Zayn telling him about the Anne Carson novel he’s been reading, or Harry telling Zayn about what Gemma’s been up to, or Zayn hitting Harry on the back of the head because he mentioned how he’s been working through _Infinite Jest_ and apparently that’s worth being hit for, or gossiping about the boys and the kids. He even talks a bit about last year, the parts of it he can tell stories about, because Zayn knows and he doesn’t judge, and some of the stories are pretty good, he thinks. It’s just good, in general. Harry feels good about it.

And he likes it here, too. Watching Zayn in the lantern light, licking a bit of mayo off his lips that makes Harry’s stomach go squirmy. He’s not staring or anything, but he likes to look at Zayn. And sometimes Zayn is looking back, when he steals a look, smiling at Harry like he likes to look at him too. Or like they’re friends who are eating together. Harry just—he wishes he knew. He wishes he knew if Liam was right or not. Wishes he knew for sure if this could break the bounds of summer.

“Okay, we’re done dining,” Zayn announces, as Harry finishes the last of the apple slices. “And we’ve got all this time…”

“We’re not done yet.” Harry brings out the brownies. “I’m properly romancing you, Zayn.”

“Didn’t know you put this much work into this sort of thing,” Zayn retorts, but he takes a brownie. “Thought you went more for the direct route, usually.”

Harry shrugs. “Usually, yeah. But you’re not usual, are you?”

He’s busy breaking off a piece of the brownie, so he only looks up when the silence stretches on. Zayn’s still looking at him, and his expression isn’t one Harry’s ever seen before, he doesn’t think. It looks…hurt, almost. Scared, maybe, but not like Zayn gets when he’s around water, the tense sort of fear. This is something Harry hasn’t seen on his face in the last ten years. “You okay?” What had he—“Was that too much?”

“No, like.” Zayn rubs at the back of his neck. “You just, fuck, Haz. You can’t just go around saying shit like that.”

“But you aren’t usual.” Harry grins, willing Zayn to smile back. “You’re my Zayn, right? My Will Scarlet. One of our Merry Men.” He nudges at Zayn’s calf with his toe, but not even that gets a smile out of him. He’s nibbling on his lip, not looking at Harry. “Zayn—”

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to hate me?” It all comes out of Zayn in a rush, the words running over each other.

“Yes.” Harry pauses. “As long as you didn’t murder anyone I like, I guess. And you wouldn’t, so, yeah. No hating. Promise. Nothing you could do.” He makes an X over his heart, keeps smiling like his heart isn’t beating a million miles an hour. What could Zayn have to confess that would make him look like that? Is he still with Jared? Is he going to transfer to, like, London or somewhere and never be near Harry again? Is he dying?

“I—I mean, I didn’t think I’d have to—like, I thought it’d be better if I didn’t say anything, make it easier for you, ‘cause I know you just wanted to mess around and shit, and I thought not saying anything would be better, yeah? Simpler. Wouldn’t mess up this last summer or anything. But if you’re saying stuff like that, and, I’ve been feeling guilty not saying, and Liam says I need to tell you, ‘cause it isn’t fair for you not to have all the facts, and—”

Harry hasn’t seen Zayn rambling like this since the last time they’d gotten drunk, and he hasn’t heard Zayn this nervous since he came out to them, when he’d rambled for a good five minutes before Louis threatened to put a frog in his bed if he didn’t come to the point. Is he actually straight? Harry’s pretty sure he’s not—maybe he’s ace and he’s been making himself have sex with Harry because he’s Zayn and he’s nice but he doesn’t really want him.

“Zayn.” Harry says, before he can go too far down that road. Zayn wouldn’t let Harry do anything Zayn didn’t want him to, he knows that. “I won’t hate you, I promise.” He puts his hand on Zayn’s thigh again, rubs a comforting circle. “This has been amazing, you know? I was so miserable last year, and then this—and you—it’s made everything good again. Knowing you’re here, having you here.”

Zayn gives him a quick smile at that, but it fades quickly, and he keeps chewing on his lip. “I, like, it’s been—” He takes a deep breath, lifts his head as that streak of steel Harry knows is there comes through. “I’ve had a crush on you since we were thirteen.”

Whatever Harry was expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?”

“I’ve had a crush on you,” Zayn repeats. “It’s not, like, why I came out or anything, but it was one of the things that helped, maybe? And you’re just—fuck, Harry, you know how you are. And I didn’t expect anything ‘cause you were straight, and I know you’re just messing around but it’s not fair for you not to know, I should have told you ages ago.”

“Since you were thirteen?” Harry echoes. He’s trying to think back, to replay everything—but it’s just Zayn. Zayn being Zayn, always there for him, with his bright smile and gentle touch and the mischievous glint in his eyes. Zayn, who’s apparently not only wanted him this summer, but for years.

“I wasn’t creepy or anything, I didn’t, like, perv on you, I swear.” Zayn’s still talking too fast, his face, drawn, and his leg tense under Harry’s hand. “I wouldn’t even have said anything now, because it makes things complicated, but it felt like, I dunno, uneven information, and I don’t want to mess up our friendship, and it doesn’t have to change anything, promise. Or if you hate me I can go back to camp.”

“I don’t hate you!” That’s the first thing that needs to be clarified. Harry’s not entirely sure what he’s feeling, but he’s almost entirely certain that the warmth spreading through him isn’t hate, unless hatred comes with an uncontrollable need to smile. He squeezes Zayn’s leg. “I don’t.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” Zayn sounds very serious. “I shouldn’t have not said. But I didn’t want to—I mean, I’d never thought this was a possibility, and then you were kissing me, and I just—I’ve wanted this so badly for so long, and it was my last chance, yeah? I didn’t want to scare you.”

“I’m not scared.” He’s not. Zayn wanted him, and he wants him, and this explains why Zayn wasn’t looking at him any differently, because if he’s had a crush on Harry for forever he’d always have looked at Harry like that. “And I don’t hate you.” He’s too far away from Zayn, he realizes, and immediately rectifies that by scrambling over to swing a leg over Zayn’s thighs, so he’s in Zayn’s lap, looking down at him. Zayn still looks nervous, glancing up at Harry through his lashes. It might not be particularly nice of Harry, but there’s something a little refreshing to this too, that for once this summer Harry feels confident, on top of the world, and Zayn’s the one who’s not sure what he’s doing. “Need me to show you?”

“I didn’t, like. This wasn’t to pressure you or anything,” Zayn mumbles, chewing on his lip. “I just couldn’t not say, with you saying shit like that.”

“I’m not pressured. And you aren’t usual.” Harry presses his lips to Zayn, sucking on Zayn’s lower lip until he stops biting it to kiss him back. Harry pulls away as soon as Zayn moans a little into the kiss. “And this isn’t just messing around,” he adds, stabbing Zayn in the chest. Zayn doesn’t want it to just be messing around. It gives Harry the courage to say, “I want this to be more,” he says, and then he’s not sure who started it but he’s kissing Zayn again, one of Zayn’s hands in his hair, the other holding them both up. Harry doesn’t bother with that, just holds onto Zayn’s face to kiss him hard. It’s perfect out, not too cold and not too warm, except for how all of Harry’s skin is on fire.

Zayn’s arm either gives out or gives up, and then Harry’s lying over Zayn and his lips aren’t enough so he’s kissing at his jaw, his necks, as Zayn’s hands tug at the lapels of his blazer.  

“Off,” Zayn mutters, and Harry stops kissing Zayn just long enough to strip off his blazer, then his shirt. Zayn’s takes longer because he’s less willing to stop touching Harry, but Harry manages it eventually, and Zayn’s breathtaking in the setting sun, looking up at Harry with kiss-stained lips. His hair’s out of its quiff, and there’s something that Harry’s pretty sure will turn into a bruise on his neck, and Harry can feel he’s as hard as Harry is, from making out.

“Do you…” he trails off, because Zayn’s licked his lips and that short-circuits his brain for a little bit. He shakes his head to clear it. “No pressure, but I’d really like to properly fuck, please.”

Zayn’s eyes go wide, and his mouth opens a little bit. Harry shifts on top of him, partly to tease, partly out of pride for getting that face from Zayn. “I mean,” Zayn gets out, after a second. He sounds choked. “Casper did give us shit, feels, like, ungrateful not to.”

“We can’t be ungrateful,” Harry agrees, and kisses Zayn again, until they’re both grinding against each other.

“Which—fuck, Haz,” Zayn pants, as Harry sucks a little more on that bruise on his collarbone. Screw the kids not seeing it. “Which way? I don’t, like, I’ll do either.”  He pulls at Harry’s hair, until Harry has to stop to look at him. “Have you—this isn’t, like, the first—”

“No.” Harry rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t hide his fond smile. “Not, like, a lot, but I have. Both ways, too. You’ve been wanting this more, sounds like, which way do you want?” He grinds his hips into Zayn’s again and Zayn groans. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Just you.” Zayn’s smile flashes, a hint of wicked in it that makes Harry’s skin light up. “I’ve dreamed about it no matter what happens.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Harry hums, kissing the laughter out of Zayn’s mouth. He likes it here, with Zayn’s hands on his hips, with Zayn looking at him like he’s the entire world. “I’d like to ride you, I think.”

Zayn swallows. “Yeah. Um, like. Told you. That’d be good.”

“Good.” Harry scoffs, and then he has to get off Zayn to grab the condom and lube from the basket. Harry has a second of wondering just why Casper had that on hand, but then he looks back, and he’s distracted.

Zayn’s propped himself up on an elbow. He’s staring, not quite smiling, just staring, and Harry preens under his gaze. He likes this look. “Well, like. Girls’ve given reviews, but I haven’t heard any for this.”

“Reviews?” Harry asks. He doesn’t want to wait, so he struggles out of his jeans now. The air’s cool enough he shivers a bit when it hits his bare legs, but Zayn’s body heat can fix that. It’s why he hurries back, so he can kiss Zayn again, have Zayn’s hands not just on his hips but squeezing his ass. His jeans are rough against Harry’s cock, and Harry whines into Zayn’s mouth.

“I’ll take ‘em off, just—up,” Zayn orders, and Harry reluctantly lifts himself off of Zayn enough for Zayn to wriggle his own jeans off. “And yeah, like. Girls talk to gay guys. And the girls had plenty to say about your skills.”

“Good things?”

“Very.” Now that they’re both naked, Harry likes it better. “Wicked tongue was mentioned a lot. Gave me a lot of sleepless nights, knowing that.”

“Yeah?” Harry laughs, leans close so he can whisper, as throatily as he can, “We can try that later.”

“Fuck.” Zayn rolls, and then he’s on top of Harry, kissing at his chest. “Give me—like, do you want to do it yourself, or, I could…”

“Whichever’s faster.”

“Romantic, aren’t you?” Zayn tweaks Harry’s nipple as he grabs the sachet of lube from him. He probably means it in play, but Harry arches into it, groaning. He wants Zayn everywhere. He wants to try out his tongue on him and see just what Zayn’s willing to do—which he bets is a lot, he knows Zayn—and to try soft and sweet and hard and fast and top and bottom and right now he just wants Zayn.

“Come on,” he urges, and Zayn smirks, settling between Harry’s legs. The first finger is a shock, a stretch, and it’s cold with the lube and the night air, but Harry ignores that in favor of watching Zayn watch him, in favor of feeling how gently Zayn stretches him. He’s good, makes it feel so good, and Harry decides not to think about that, because it doesn’t matter who else Zayn did this with because he’s here now, his fingers scissoring in Harry until he’s cursing and seeing stars. Zayn’s eyes stay fixed on Harry the whole time, dark with lust and the night, and Harry can see how hard he is too, when he spares a second to think around the way he’s gasping in pleasure.

“Okay, I’m good,” he announces, before Zayn has him coming like this.

“You sure? ‘s not, like, ideal.” Zayn gestures at the rough blanket beneath them. “Want to be sure—”

“Shut up.” Harry pushes at Zayn’s arm until he’s moved his fingers, then until he’s on his back. “I want your dick in me.”

“Hell.” Zayn says, and fumbles with the condom. He’s graceless with it, his fingers slick with lube.

Harry chuckles, and takes the condom out of Zayn’s hand, rips it open. He knows this part. He knows he’s good at this, and it’s sort of nice that Zayn’s fumbling. Zayn’s always been cool, even when he’s being a dork. Harry likes making him clumsy with desire.

He decides against sliding the condom on with his mouth, because he only gets that right like fifty percent of the time and he doesn’t want to mess this up, but Zayn still hisses out a breath when Harry’s finger’s circle him.

“God, Harry…” Zayn shakes his head, watching him. “You’re so…”

He trails off, when Harry positions himself over him, uses his hand to guide Zayn in. It’s a stretch, and it’s not pleasant at first, but he knows it’s going to get better. He’s got faith Zayn will make it better. And the way Zayn’s breath stops all at once makes it even better.

“What am I?” Harry asks, when he’s fully seated. It’s so fucking deep, and he’s not—he hasn’t done this much, not really, didn’t want to do it with people it didn’t mean much to, which was sort of everyone, but he likes the feeling, of being full. “Sexy?”

“Always. Just, like, amazing, Haz,” Zayn mumbles, his hands tight on Harry’s hips. “Are you, like, you good? I…”

“Yeah.” Harry starts to move, circling his hips experimentally at first, then in earnest. Zayn’s hips rise up to meet him, pushing in farther, and Harry can see all the veins standing out in his neck, how he’s panting. It’s the only sound in the woods, panting and the slap of skin and the things Zayn’s mumbling, too low for Harry to hear.

Then Zayn lets go of Harry’s hip to get a hand on his cock, and Harry’s the one moaning, low enough it almost echoes, at the tight friction of it. He’s close, and he doesn’t really care it hasn’t been long, but he does the little wiggle guys like, as Zayn’s hips start to stutter in their rhythm. He knows how to make this good, and he will.

“Harry, fuck, you’re so, never thought I’d get to do this—” Zayn’s babbling again, as his fingers rub against the head of Harry’s cock and he groans and thrusts down harder. Zayn shifts his hips a little, then he’s hitting Harry’s prostate on the next thrust and Harry moans.  “God, Harry—” he lapses into mindless words, oaths and Urdu and just Harry’s name, and he looks utterly undone, sweat streaking his brow and his cheeks flushed and his hair a mess. Harry clenches around him, and then there’s another moan of his name and Zayn’s coming, thrusting into Harry as he does.

His hand keeps moving on Harry as his hips slow, and Harry’s so close, and he doesn’t want to come not on Zayn. He looks at Zayn, fucked out and beautiful and staring at him like he’s everything, and then Zayn’s hand twists just right and he’s coming to, falling forward into Zayn as it courses through him. Zayn’s hand is in his hair, petting at it, and he’s murmuring something that Harry can’t quite understand but that sounds like endearments, and Harry’s never felt so warm.

He stays there as long as he can, with Zayn in him and around him, but then, “Haz, it was great, but you’re heavy,” Zayn complains, and Harry breathes out a laugh.

“Now who’s romantic?” he asks, rolling off of Zayn onto his side. Zayn laughs. He pulls off the condom, then grabs his flannel, wiping off first his hand, then, gently, Harry’s stomach and softening cock. That done, he drops the flannel back on the ground, and pulls at Harry until they’re cuddled together. It’s nice. No one wanted to cuddle, last year. Wanted Harry to stay, as they both drowse with Zayn’s hand drawing circles on Harry’s stomach, not for the turn on but just because he likes the feel of Harry’s skin, like Harry likes his. Not even the scratchy blanket underneath them can make it less than amazing.

“So?” Harry asks, when he feels like it’s been quiet enough, and he wants to know. “What’s your review?”

Zayn laughs again. When Harry looks at him, he’s smiling like he can’t stop, his eyes curved into crescents. Harry’s only seen him happy like this maybe once before, when their general reaction to his coming out hadn’t been bad. “Five stars,” he says, and kisses Harry’s hair. “Two thumbs up.”

“You too.” Harry replies, because he believes in letting people know when they’ve fucked your brains out. He grabs Zayn’s hand, intertwines their fingers. “Would see again.”

Zayn snorts. “Me too.” He squeezes, and Harry nestles back into him, listening to the lake and the trees and Zayn’s breath. Zayn might be falling asleep, he thinks, with how long he’s been quiet. He wouldn’t mind, sleeping here, wrapped up in Zayn, feeling safe and wanted and sated and happy.

“Just,” Zayn says, quietly but suddenly. “Wish, like. We’d done this sooner. Only have a week left.”

And there it is. Harry swallows. But Zayn had told him his secret, and there’s nothing else between them, and Harry feels brave, with Zayn’s arms around him. With Zayn’s gaze as he calls Harry amazing, and believes it. “What if we didn’t?”

“Hm?” Zayn hums. Harry lets go of Zayn’s hand so he can roll over to see Zayn properly.

“What if this didn’t have to end?” Harry waves his hand between them.

“We can try long distance,” Zayn nods, “But even if it works, it won’t be the same, yeah? And you’ll have to focus on learning a new place, and everything’ll be new and there’ll be, like, new people, and—”

“No.” Harry wishes he had clothes on, all of a sudden. Zayn’s looking at him all soft and sleepy and happy, and he doesn’t want that to change. “Like, what if…I were going to your school?”

“What?” Zayn doesn’t sound so sleepy anymore.

“I.” Harry gulps down air. But he has to say this. And it’s good! It means they’ll have this for longer. “So I told you I was transferring, but I didn’t say—it’s to your school.”

“What?” Zayn repeats. He sits up, and the softness has faded into confusion. “My school?”

“Yeah. So we’ll be together!” Harry points out, trying to smile. He’d hoped for a better reaction than this. “And you can show me around and I can meet all your friends and—”

“Really, Harry?” Harry winces back, at Zayn’s explosion. He’s glaring at Harry, furious, and Harry hadn’t—he didn’t expect this, he knew Zayn might be irritated he hadn’t told him, or that this would be more than just a summer thing, but he didn’t think it would be this sort of anger. “Really?” 

“I just—it’ll be good!” Harry protests. “We can keep on with this, and—”

“This, right. Fuck, I knew it was too good to be true—” Zayn shakes his head, then he’s getting to his feet, grabbing his clothes, and Harry doesn’t get it.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. Zayn wasn’t supposed to be angry. He’d expected disappointment, surprise, maybe even a gentle disentangling of them because Zayn didn’t want to be with him—but not anger. Not like this. Zayn’s supposed to be his friend, supposed to want him around. “Are you mad I’m going to be at your school?”

“No,” Zayn snaps. He steps into his jeans, buttons them, then grabs his Henley and yanks it over his head. “No, I’m mad because you were fucking using me. Using—fuck, I was so easy—I knew it couldn’t happen, not really.”

“I—I didn’t—”

“You didn’t need to do all this just to get me to be there for you,” Zayn barrels on. “What, did you think if you let me fuck you that’d make sure you’d have friends this time around?” Zayn goes on, and Harry’s eyes widen.

“No, I—”

“Fuck that,” Zayn spits, and his whole body is tense and Harry still doesn’t know what went wrong. “And fuck you, Harry. I thought you were better than this.”

“I am!” Harry finally gets out. “I didn’t—I wasn’t using you, it’s not—”

“Then why didn’t you tell me? You had plenty of opportunities!” Zayn snatches his flannel from the ground, balls it up.

“I just—”

“Did you think fucking would seal the deal? Had to romance me, make me—it was bad enough just having the crush, but then—I should have fucking known better, too good to be true. You couldn’t actually, not after all these years.” Harry’d never thought someone’s eyes could actually flash, but Zayn’s basically are in the lantern light, and Harry doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to react to the sudden onslaught. “Fuck, Harry! I thought I meant more to you than that.”  

“You do, I—” But Zayn’s storming away, into the trees, and Harry could chase after him but he doesn’t know what to say anyway.

It’s not true. He tells that to himself, as he slowly puts his own clothes back on, gathers up the remnants of their picnic and tries not to think about the symbolism of it. It’s not. It’s a plus that they’ll be together next year, it’s not the reason. It can’t be. He’s better than that. Harry folds the blanket, puts it on top of the basket. He’ll have to wash it, now. It probably smells like sex, like him and Zayn, like how good it had been before Harry had messed it up. This is why he didn’t bring reality in, the minute he did, everything went wrong. Harry went wrong, because he’s fine at camp, but not when the world comes in. But he likes Zayn for more than that, for next year. He just noticed this year because he realized how he looked at boys, that’s all. The rest was just Zayn’s Zayn-ness, that made him fall for him. How he was even more Zayn, this year.

It’s a long walk back to camp. In the distance, Harry can see the lone figure that’s Zayn, stalking stiff-legged back across the beach, but Harry doesn’t try to catch up. Zayn’s anger needs time to settle. And Harry’s still in shock. It had been so good. He’d been so happy, lying there with Zayn. How had it all gone so wrong? What had he done?

He deposits the picnic basket inside the kitchen, then heads back towards his cabin. Maybe it’ll be better in the morning.

Liam’s awake when he swings the door open as quietly as he can, lying on the bed with a comic book open on his lap. He looks up with a smile, that quickly dies when he sees Harry’s face.

“What happened?” It’s a whisper, so as not to wake the sleeping boys. Harry just shakes his head. He doesn’t know. Liam said it would be all right. Liam said Zayn would be happy with all of Harry. He doesn’t want to talk to him.

Liam bites at his lip, his brow furrowing, but he nods. “Okay, night.” He reaches out, hesitates, then pats Harry’s shoulder as he slips past him, back outside.

Harry falls face first onto the bed, muffling his groan in the pillow. Maybe he’ll wake up and this will just be his subconscious torturing him, and he’ll still have the date with Zayn to come tomorrow and Harry will figure out how to tell Zayn in a way that makes it clear he is special, that Harry wasn’t using him. That he really can like him for him. Maybe he’ll wake up and he’ll find out that he’d fallen asleep in that clearing, with Zayn curled around him.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s not better in the morning. Harry’s tired and heart sore and regular sore, so he’s snappy at the campers when they demand to know where he’d been last night, try to tell him everything they got up to with Liam. He manages to get them to breakfast without killing any of them, not even Ryan who decided this morning would be a good morning to yell about how a book of Kevin’s had ended up on his bunk. Maybe—there’s hope, that Zayn will smile at him in the mess hall, that they’ll put it all behind him.

He doesn’t. Harry herds his boys through the overcast morning, only to find Zayn already in the dining hall, tucked in next to Liam at a table with Sophia and the older boys. He doesn’t even look at Harry, but the look Liam gives Harry over Zayn’s head makes it pretty clear that Zayn told Liam what happened and Liam’s not pleased with him either, though there’s a helplessness to his look that Harry hopes means he gets it, a bit. But it’s also clear Harry’s not welcome there, not when Zayn’s still hurt and mad enough to be curled into Liam like he’s a safety net.

So instead, he drops into the chair next to Louis at the far end of the counselor’s table, and drops his head onto Louis’s shoulder.

Louis immediately hugs his shoulder. “What happened?” he demands, hissing in Harry’s ear. “Zayn looks like he’s been crying all night.” He pauses, gives Harry a look. “You look like you’ve been crying. What did you guys do last night?”

Harry turns, so he can rest his head in the crook of Louis’s neck. It’s easy. Uncomplicated. Louis had been glad of Harry transferring, knew it was good for him. But he didn’t know how bad it had been, either. Zayn had known that.

“Zayn wasn’t happy about me going to school with him,” Harry mutters, into Louis’s neck.

“What? I could have sworn he thought the sun shone out of your ass. What, would you be cramping his style, or something? I—”

“No.” Harry cuts Louis off before he can go do something stupid. It’s not Zayn’s fault. “No, I…he took it the wrong way, I think.”

“The wrong way?”

“I didn’t have a chance to explain! He just, he got mad, and you know Zayn, he—”

“Okay.” Louis shakes his head, takes a sip of his tea. Then he pushes at Harry’s shoulder until he sits up, so Louis can look at him. “Tell it to me in order. And none of your rambling. Bullet points. We don’t have all day.”

Harry swallows. But Louis’s only as angry as he usually is, and he needs someone to know. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Niall come in, look at Liam and Zayn, then him and Louis, then walk over to where Monique and Mel were eating. It’s probably the best idea.

“I—we went on the picnic. We ate. It was going well, we were joking and all, and I said I was romancing him, and this wasn’t just fooling around, and Zayn said—he said he’d had a crush on me for years.” Louis makes a surprised noise, his eyes widening. “You didn’t know?”

“No.” Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “And I’m annoyed about that now, too. How’d he keep that a secret? But go on. He’s madly in like with you. You don’t have to worry about that anymore. Everything sounds good.”

“It was! He told me, then…” Harry trails off, glances around. But none of the kids are nearby. “Then we fucked.”

Louis snorts. “That supposed to surprise me? You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other.”

Harry shrugs. Yesterday, that would have gotten a smile out of him. “So, we fucked, then after, we were lying there, and he was saying how he wished it didn’t have to end, so I said it didn’t, because I was transferring to his school. Then he got mad.”

“Because you were going to his school?”

“Because…he thought—thinks—that I was using him, I guess?” Harry mumbles. It’s not true. He’s almost certain. “That I was just doing this so I would have friends.”

“Bullshit!”

“Shush!” Harry hisses. Louis was loud enough that people are looking. Liam’s looking, from his table. But Zayn’s eating slowly, methodically, pointedly not looking. Harry looks away before he starts staring. Has Zayn really been crying? That has to be a good thing—not that Zayn crying is good, but it means he hasn’t written Harry out of his life.

“Bullshit,” Louis repeats, quieter. “What, that you let him fuck you ‘cause you’ve got a magic ass and he could never get away?” Harry doesn’t answer. It’s a little too spot on. Is it that obvious? “Really?”

“Yeah, basically.” For something to do, Harry grabs a bagel, rips off a piece to pop in his mouth. “Then he left. And now he’s mad, and I’ve fucked up our last summer and next year will be even more horrible because Zayn’ll be mad at me, and I shouldn’t have done anything in the first place.” He knew this would happen, knew the second he stepped out of camp everything would go wrong.

“Oh, come here.” Louis pulls him into a hug. “You didn’t fuck things up. Zayn’ll get over it, then you can explain that you just didn’t tell him before because you were an idiot, and then you can be all gross and disgusting and horrible for Zayn’s friends next year.”

“He’s not right?” Harry mutters. “Right?”

“No, he’s not.” Louis says it firmly. “You’re not that manipulative. And you aren’t an asshole. And Zayn knows that. He’s just cooling off, you know him.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, and cuddles closer into Louis. Across the mess hall, Zayn’s nestled close to Liam, his head bowed so Harry can see the curve of his neck. It’ll get better. It has to.

\---

Zayn disappears before Harry can talk to him after breakfast, then Harry has kitchen duty, so he’s stuck cooking and washing all morning. Casper doesn’t try to talk to him, doesn’t ask him how the date went last night, and Harry’s thankful for that, at least. Louis’s one thing, but he doesn’t want Casper to know how much he failed. Or, didn’t fail—how much he couldn’t communicate right. Because Zayn had wanted him, he had, had wanted to cuddle and hold Harry’s hand, looked at Harry like he was good and precious—and Harry had messed that up because of, like, pride or something. Because he didn’t know how to do these things, not really.

He sits with his boys at lunch, lets their chatter sooth him and their arguments distract him. Zayn’s sitting with Liam again. Every time Harry steals a glance, he’s not smiling, just eating sort of mechanically, his face the sort of neutral he gets when he’s trying not to show what he’s thinking. Harry’s always been good at working around that, at getting him to laugh and smile again—maybe because Zayn’s had a crush on him? Is that why? Why it feels weird, not to have Zayn’s gaze on him, not to know he’d smile at Harry if Harry caught his eye.

He sends his boys off to the cabin to get ready for their after-lunch activity, then hovers outside. Zayn’s going to the arts and crafts cabin, he knows, so he leans against the side of the mess hall, ruffles his hair. It’s—he just has to explain. That it wasn’t that, that he didn’t lie or anything, that it doesn’t matter. That he wants Zayn for more than just a security blanket. That the one had nothing to do with the other.

Louis herds out a bunch of kids heading towards the lake, shooting a thumbs up at Harry as he goes; Niall comes out with his guitar over his back and a bunch of kids clamoring for what song they’re going to learn first. He gives Harry a questioning look, but Harry just shakes his head—then gets distracted, because Zayn’s coming out. He hurries up out the door, probably when he catches sight of Harry, so Harry waves good-bye to Niall and bounces up to grab his arm.

“Zayn—” Zayn turns to look at him, just for a second. If he’s been crying, he doesn’t show it, not really, but his gaze is shuttered behind his eyelashes and his lips are pressed together and Harry wants to kiss him until he smiles again, wants to press his lips to every inch of Zayn’s skin until he assures him that’s what Harry wants, not anything else. Wants Zayn to smile at him again like he’s the only thing in the world, like he’s the best thing. Wants to know he deserves that.

“What, Harry?” he snaps. Harry winces. Zayn doesn’t usually snap at him. “I’ve got to get to the arts and crafts cabin.”

He’s just—he’s so angry. Harry hadn’t thought he’d be this angry. It makes sense, though; Harry doesn’t know how he’d feel if the guy he’d had a crush on for years had let him fuck him and then he’d thought it had just been for his friends. Harry would be mad at himself too. Zayn should be mad at him.

“Well?” Zayn demands, as Harry hesitates. He’s always been a little scary when he’s angry, so vicious and aggressive, as bad as Louis is but worse because it’s unexpected.

“Can we—we should talk, I think,” Harry mutters, ducking his head. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this now. Maybe he should have waited for Zayn to cool off longer. Except he knows better than to leave Zayn to stew in his anger. But what’s Harry supposed to say now, to get him talking again?

“Think you said everything you had to,” Zayn retorts, then he stalks off, his back stiff.

Harry sighs, and pushes his hair out of his face. Fuck.

\---

It doesn’t change. Harry tries again at dinner, then at the bonfire, but both times Zayn just turns away, cuddles into Liam or Vanessa or just leaves, goes to his cabin to read or something. It’s horrible. It’s worse than all of last year put together, because Harry didn’t care about any of them, not really, not Dave and his judgment and homophobia, not any of the LGBT club kids with their own form of judgment and the cliques he couldn’t fit into, not the professors who didn’t help at all. Zayn matters. Zayn matters more than Harry thought anyone would, he can’t do anything to get him, can just stare mopily into the fire and hope that Zayn gets over it. It’s all of last year’s loneliness, compounded a hundred times, and he hadn’t known it could feel like this even when he has friends around him. Feel like such a failure, again.

“Harry, are you sad?” James asks, climbing onto Harry’s bed instead of his own.

Harry sighs again, then puts on his best smile. “Nah, I’m fine. What about you?”

“I’m not sad. Zayn said I made the best crown he’d ever seen today,” James declares. “He’s gonna use it in the talent show.”

Harry’s heart thumps painfully at hearing his name, but he keeps his smile on. “That’s great, James. Have you guys thought about what you want to do for the talent show?”

“We’re still arguing. Aaron,” he glares at the boy bouncing on his own bed, joking with Ryan, “Doesn’t want to do singing.”

“I can’t sing!” Aaron yells, “And I want to be a superhero!”

“I don’t wanna be a superhero,” James retorts, and Harry shushs the cries that come piling in.

“We can keep thinking,” he assures them. They’ve got time. They don’t really need to have a theme until the last few days, when there’s time for rehearsal—it’s more the older kids, who are expected to do more than look cute, who want time to practice. When, their last year as campers, the five of them had sung Teenaged Dirtbag, they’d practiced for weeks. But these boys just have to be cute, really. “Now, is everyone ready for lights out?”

After the long process of actually getting them to lights out, Harry flips on his bedside light, goes to pull open his book. His hand hovers over the copy of Thomas Pynchon Zayn had given him, then he leans down, digs more in his bag. There, at the bottom, like it has been since his first year, is his old beat up copy of Robin Hood short stories, the same one Zayn had seen him reading first year, had cuddled up close to him to read over his shoulder.

Harry flips through the pages slowly, following Robin’s journey. Watching him find his place, gather his friends, his lady. More than that, though, he can see the story of years and years on these pages—the red splotch where Harry spilled ketchup on it over the golden arrow, the flecks of water over rescue of King Richard from when Louis had decided they were being boring and decided a water fight was in order. Zayn had fended him off until Harry could get the book out of the way. His Will Scarlet, beautiful and loyal and quick, and Harry reads about him supporting his cousin over and over. Like he'd always support Harry. Or he had.

He sets the book down again. He misses Zayn. It hasn’t even been two days, and he misses him. But Zayn won’t talk to him to let him explain, and so Harry turns off his light, closes his eyes. Maybe Zayn will be ready to forgive him tomorrow.

\---

He’s not. Or at least, not at breakfast, when he pointedly ignores Harry at the counselor’s table, chatting with Vanessa—who’s been giving Harry her own evil eye—and Monique, and barely grunting when Harry asks him to pass the syrup. Harry doesn’t know what it says that he’s thankful for that grunt. It’s pathetic, he knows—and Louis tells him—but it is what it is. It means he isn’t ignoring Harry, so that’s a step up.

After breakfast, he’s helping Niall lead the music class out on the main lawn. It’s nice, to play around on his guitar, half helping Niall guide the kids’ fingers, half letting Niall give him pointers of his own. He’s never going to be as good as Niall, and he really doesn’t want to be, but he thinks he’s coming along. Maybe he can join a band or something, next year.

They’re just packing up, the kids all sent off to lunch, when Zayn and Sophia come back from their nature walk. Malik shouts a hello to Harry before galloping off towards the cabins to change, and so Harry doesn’t have a choice but to look up. Sophia waves at him too, and Zayn—Zayn looks at him. Harry grins, hopeful, the sort of grin that usually makes Zayn smile back at him, but Zayn’s expression doesn’t change, and he looks away.

Harry’s head drops back to his guitar. Fuck. He hadn’t realized how much he missed how Zayn looked at him until it stopped. How oblivious he’d been, because now that Zayn doesn’t look at him like that, it’s so obvious how he must have felt. If only Harry’d done something differently—if he’d known, told Zayn from the first, so it was clear—if he’d made Zayn believe…

“Okay, that’s it.” Niall’s voice sounds loud and brash in childless grass around them. He sets down his own guitar in its case, then takes a seat on the log next to Harry. “I’ve been staying out of the whole you and Zayn thing ‘cause it seems more drama than it’s worth, but this is getting to be too much, and it’s fucking with our last week. What happened?”

Harry shrugs. “I messed up.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Come on, Haz. You guys are miserable, this is bullshit. You can’t have messed up that bad.”

Niall’s not like Louis. He’s stayed out of it, and he’s not—Harry knows he loves him, but he loves Zayn too. So does Louis, of course, but Louis is his, like Liam is Zayn’s, and Niall’s both of theirs equally. And he’s not demanding, not like Louis does. He just asks, then adds, “And it’s fucking weird not to be able to hang out all of us, so you should figure it out.”

He hadn’t thought about that. That he’d messed this up for everyone. Or, well. They had. Because Harry’s not the one still refusing to even talk to Harry. When did everything get so fucked up? It wasn’t too long ago they were all in a pile on Harry’s bed, and Harry’d felt like he’d finally come home. That he finally remembered where he belonged, who he was.

Niall puts a hand on his thigh, and he’s still just looking at Harry, no judgment in his gaze. It spills out of Harry then, last year and seeing Zayn and wanting him and getting him and then what he’d done wrong. Not all of it, not nearly, not all the things he’d tucked into Zayn’s skin because Zayn could hold it for him, but enough so Niall will understand. Niall just listens, his foot bouncing as he waits for Harry to finish. He’s not crying, as he does, but he feels like he might. It’s just such a mess.

“Huh,” Niall says, once Harry’s done. Everyone else has gone inside by now. Harry’s kind of flattered Niall thought it was worth staying away from lunch for. “Yeah, that sucks.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters. That’s really helpful.

Niall nudges his knee gently. “But, it’s just a misunderstanding. Why don’t you just tell him?”

“Because he won’t talk to me!” Harry throws his arms up, then somehow he’s on his feet too, just for something to do. “You know Zayn, he’s mad, he’s not letting me talk! And so I can’t tell him he’s got it all wrong, and it’s still all messed up, and I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just wanted to be with him, and to have a good time with him next year. That’s all.”

Niall gets to his feet too. He’s favoring one leg, Harry notices offhand, his knee must be hurting again. It’s easier to think about that than about what Zayn must think of him. “So, make him listen, right?”

“What, scream at him til he gets too annoyed?” Harry snorts. At least Niall can always make him laugh.

“If you want.” Niall shrugs. “Or bring him roses or something. You’ve always known how to get Zayn to do shit.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he liked me, apparently. And now he doesn’t.”

“Look, this drama shit is stupid, right?” Niall pats Harry’s shoulder, like saying that is that easy. “And it’s probably just Zayn being stupid and stubborn. But the Harry Styles I know would usually have done, like, four big gestures to get him to listen by now.”

“But…” Harry shakes out his hair, to do something with his hands. It’s pointless. He can’t even do this right “It’s Zayn, ‘m not sure he’d like something that big, and even then, you know how Zayn gets when he’s mad. Nothing can make him listen.”

Niall shrugs again. “You usually could, though.” He goes on before Harry can think about that, can wonder if that’s still true. “I dunno, though. Want to go get lunch? Maybe we can actually all sit at a table this time.”

They can’t. Zayn’s back with his campers, though at least Liam sits with them, and he talks to Harry, though the disappointment is clear. But Harry’s certainly not explaining himself to Liam before he talks to Zayn. Liam’d probably look even more disappointed at him, disappointed that he couldn’t deal with one year of not being the most popular when Liam dealt with so much shit for so long, disappointed he didn’t tell Zayn the truth, disappointed that he’s so messed up over it.

It doesn’t make for a very cheerful lunch, all told, even if Louis and Niall try their best. Harry’s about ready to give it up as lost, to go to the lake early, when,

“Styles!” Harry looks up. Paul’s standing at the door in to the offices, beckoning. Harry points to himself, with a questioning head tilt. He didn’t do anything wrong. Usually it’s Louis and Zayn—sometimes with Harry dragged along, admittedly—who got called in by Paul for doing shit. And unless Louis’s not telling him something, he doesn’t think they’ve done anything.

Paul nods curtly.

“What did you do?” Louis asks, elbowing him. “Did you and Zayn get caught somewhere?”

“Not asking for Zayn,” Harry points out. Zayn’s looking at him, at least, even if he ducks his head as soon as he sees Harry noticing. But Harry thinks that might have been concern. “I don’t think I did anything?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Liam assures him.

“Whatever it is, you should go see,” Niall jumps in. “He’s looking antsy.”

“Yeah. Um. See you later?” Harry shrugs, then gets up, heads to the doorway. He thinks, maybe, he catches Zayn looking at him again.

“I didn’t do anything!” Harry claims, as soon as he gets to the door. It’s always best to start off with a blanket disclaimer.

Paul just rolls his eyes. “I doubt that, but I don’t care. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Lifeguarding.”

Paul hums, then nods. “Okay, Liam can take over that. I need you with me.”

“Why?” Harry asks, but he still follows Paul out the door, throwing a confused shrug over his shoulder at the boys.

“Cowell stopped by this afternoon.”

“Already?” Usually, the owner of TXF only showed up for the final day of camp, where he could watch the talent show and then stay over to see the kids off in the morning.

“Just for the day, apparently, not that he gave me notice.” Paul grunts exasperatedly, sets off down the corridor so Harry has to trot to keep up with him. “He’s brought up a couple that’s thinking of donating. I need you to show them around while I meet with him.”

“Me?” Harry yelps. He’s not—he shouldn’t be the one doing that. That’s not his job.

“Yes, you.”

“Why not—like, Casper, or Louis—”

“I need Casper with me, and I am not letting Tomlinson within fifty feet of donors,” Paul says firmly, which is a fair point. “I need you to do this. If we get the Winstons on board, we’ll have the money to dredge the lake properly, maybe redo the kitchen. Go do your thing at them.”

“My—” But Paul’s already ushering him into his office. Simon’s sitting at his desk, looking the same as he has since Harry was seven—maybe a few more grey hairs, maybe a little heavier, but Harry’s sure he has some really good plastic surgeons somewhere. Across from him are a couple, presumably the Winstons. The man’s tall and broad, good looking in a classic sort of way; his wife is a pretty blonde. They look nice enough, Harry thinks.

“Hello,” Paul says, pushing Harry in front of him. “This is Harry Styles, one of our counselors here. He’ll be showing you around. Harry, this is Ben and Meredith Winston.”

“Hi!” Harry gives them his best grin, which hopefully hides his panic. He can’t do this. What if he fucks this up? He knows they need this money, that the kitchen could do for an overhaul, and he knows it’s not just up to him but he’s the representative of the camp, and Paul should have chosen anyone else. What if they don’t like him? What if they’re like all the people last year who he didn’t fit with? “Nice to meet you!”

“You too.” Ben holds out his hand. Harry shakes his hand first, then Meredith’s, then Simon’s bidding them farewell and tells Harry to get them back in time for dinner, and Harry leads them outside into the sunshine.

After-lunch activities are just starting, so there’s only a few kids straggling out of the cabins, running off to their stations. Other than that, the camp’s more or less quiet, except for the group of Monique’s cloudwatchers on the lawn.

“Have you been here long?” Meredith asks, gently. Like a warm up.

Harry takes a deep breath. He has to do this. For TXF. “Since I was seven,” he says, grinning. “It’s like a second home. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

The lake first, he thinks, and heads that way. “So, what brings you to Camp TXF? It is the best camp around, so you should be here, but how’d you hear about it?”

They chuckle as Ben explains how he’s a business associate of Simon’s, and Harry leads them down the path towards the lake. He points out the cabins, the lawn, the place where he and Louis had first met, which gets Meredith to tell the story about how she met her camp best friend, and Harry nods enthusiastically, swallowing down nerves. This is the real world encroaching on camp, money and responsibility, and if he fucks this up…but he can’t. He has to do this. He can do this.

And it’s as simple as that. He can. He has to. He regales them with stories about his time at camp, asks them about themselves. They’re pretty cool in general—Ben makes videos, among other things, and Meredith is an ad exec who’s worked on some cool campaigns. So it’s easy to talk to them as he shows them the lake first, the kids shrieking their pleasure, and when he sees Liam and Sophia both sitting on the dock lifeguarding and holding hands he has to tell Ben and Meredith about the adorableness that is their relationship, which makes them coo at their backs. Then he takes them up through the woods, like he does the kids the first time, points out Zayn’s favorite reading tree, insists they certainly never snuck out to camp there at all until they’re both laughing. By that time the kids are moving on to their next activity session, so he goes over the lawn, to where Niall’s leading a singalong, then across the fields where Louis’s either refereeing or possibly cheating at a game of ultimate Frisbee.

By the time they get to the arts and crafts cabin, it’s almost time for dinner. Harry’s busy listening to Ben tell about a talent show he once participated in, so he doesn’t even think about how Zayn’s going to be in there until he pushes open the door and Zayn looks up with a frown, that quickly morphs into confusion when he sees who’s with him.

“And, arts and crafts!” Harry presents with a flourish. “Where kids can do all the art they want. Within reason.”

“Of course,” Ben snorts. Meredith’s leaning over a table, looking at what the kids are doing. Today, a bunch of them are doing backdrops for the talent show, and the rest seem to be working with finger paints. “And is this popular?”

“Yeah!” Harry doesn’t look at Zayn. He can’t think about that now. “There are always the kids who don’t want to always be running around. And we try to make sure everything about their brains are stimulated, not just their bodies.” He glances around, checking none of the younger kids are there. “Well. Not _all_ parts. Though, lots of teenagers…” He winks, and gets another laugh out of them.

“I’d expect nothing less.” Ben’s leer is a little much, but whatever. It’s all in good fun. “Is there a lot of that?”

Harry really, really hopes Zayn can’t hear him. But in case, “No more than normal, with teenagers, I’d say. And I know a lot of people whose relationships have extended past camp, or over camp summers. It’s…” He looks at Ben, not to his right, where Zayn’s crouched over the backdrop. “You meet different people here than you do anywhere else, and they can be really important. And sometimes bringing the other world here, or those people into the real world, is hard. But it can be really rewarding?” He shrugs. “I don’t know, though, I haven’t wanted to do it before.” And that got more intimate than he wanted, but he hopes Zayn heard. He hasn’t wanted it before, but he does now. He’s grown up, he’s changed, he can want that. Even without the other stuff. “How did you two meet? High school sweethearts?”

“Oh no, I swept him off his feet after college,” Meredith giggles, and Harry leads them out. He glances over his shoulder before he goes. Zayn still isn’t looking at him, but it feels less pointed.

They get back to the mess hall with only one minor incident when Harry almost trips on a tree root walking backwards, but he manages to right himself, and they both nicely ignore it, so it’s fine.

“So, I hope you liked Camp TXF!” Harry says, as they get to the main lawn. “I’ll give you back to Simon now.”

“It looks great,” Ben nods.

“With such charming tour guides, who couldn’t like it,” Meredith agrees, winking, and Harry grins back before opening the door and leading them in.

“With such nice people to guide, who couldn’t be charming?” he counters, and shows them to Paul’s office. “Here’s Simon, then.”

Paul follows him out into the hall, leaving the two of them with Simon. “Thanks for that, Harry. I know it was short notice, but it sounds like it went well.”

“Hope so,” Harry agrees. He knows he should be tired, after walking around all afternoon, but he’s excited, bouncy. He feels like he’s coming off a run or something. “Do you think we’d be able to get a new oven? Something big would be great. And if we could get more boats—”

Paul rolls his eyes, then ruffles Harry’s hair. “Get to dinner. Good job today.”

“Thanks!” Harry gives him a hug, because he feels like he should, and bounces off. They’d liked him. They’d liked him, he’d made them like him, like he always could. He knows how to do that, here. And he can do it with people who aren’t from here, who aren’t part of TXF, who aren’t part of his high school or his little town—he can do this. He thinks about Dave, as he trots through the hall towards the dining room. Dave and his judgmental gaze and how Harry hadn’t stood a chance there, how nothing else had fit. But he fits here, and he made himself fit with the Winstons, and who cares about Dave anyway? Harry won’t be going back. Harry’s going forward.

He gets to dinner a little late. Zayn’s already sitting at the counselor’s table, and his gaze flicks quickly to Harry before it darts away again, like it has for the past few days, even when Harry sits down on Louis’s other side.

But fuck that, Harry decides, then and there. He can do this. He’s done tugging on Zayn’s arm to get him to listen. Zayn needs to listen to him because they’re going to be so good together. He’ll make Zayn listen, and then he’ll forgive him, and then they won’t leave camp with regrets.

\---

“Okay.” Harry gives the boys one final look, tugging on costumes, before he sets his wig on his head. “Everyone ready?”

“I am!” Malik waves his sword wildly. “I’m gonna kill the dragon!”

“There aren’t any dragons in this story,” Harry reminds him, not for the first time. They’d all been pretty on board with his idea, but the idea of knights but no dragons didn’t ring true to some. Bows and arrows had sold most of them, though.

“Can I kill one later, then?” Malik asks, pouting beneath his cardboard helmet. Harry snorts.

“Yeah, sure. Everyone else?”

There’s a smattering of yeses, and Harry’s herding them towards the makeshift curtains when there’s a tug on his shirt.

James is looking up on Harry, biting at his lip, looking very young under his helmet. “What if I forget my line?” he mutters. “Is everyone gonna laugh?”

“No one’s going to laugh,” Harry assures him. “They all just want you to do well. They’re your friends, remember?”

“Yeah.” James doesn’t look convinced. Harry understands. He’s more than a little nervous too. He knows this will work, but it’s been almost a week of Zayn ignoring him. Of Zayn looking away, of Zayn sitting on the other side of the bonfire. That was almost as long as Harry had anything more, but it feels like eons, like he’s lost something important. And this is the last day of camp, it’s the last moment Harry will have, more or less. His big gesture, so Zayn will know he wasn’t manipulating him, that he is special.

So yeah, he’s nervous. But he’s also been in at ten of these talent shows, and he knows how it feels when you’re six. “It’ll be fine, James. They’re your friends, they aren’t going to laugh.”

“They laughed at Chris and Connor,” James says, still quiet.

Harry looks over at where the two thirteen year olds are sitting, cross-legged on the grass, looking very pleased with themselves. “That’s because they were trying to be funny. You’ll be fine.” He kneels down, pushing aside the skirts Sophia had managed to find somewhere in storage. “Want to know the secret of doing well when people are looking?”

James blinks big eyes. “What?”

“Don’t doubt yourself,” Harry tells him. Tells himself. “Are we good?” James nods, looking very thoughtful. “Good. Now go over with Aaron, wait for what we practiced.”

James scampers away, and Harry gets back to his feet. On stage, a group of girls are finishing their rendition of Sk8r Boi, to everyone’s applause and a few whistles. Harry gives out a final pat on the shoulder to everyone, then goes on stage.

Laughter greets him. Harry grins, and sweeps into a wide curtsey in his medieval style gown. “My lords and ladies!” he says loudly, hamming it up as much as he can. Niall’s already cracking up, and Louis looks like he doesn’t know which joke to tell first, and Liam’s caught between rolling his eyes and laughing. But Harry can’t help but look at Zayn. He’s sat, cross-legged, with a group of kids, both his boys and some others, and he’s just wearing a red t-shirt and jeans and Harry still wants to lick him. Wants to be able to touch him, and wipe of the confused look he’s giving Harry with a kiss, and make the smile in his eyes get to his lips. Wants Zayn to smile at him again, to settle into the calm of his arms. “May I now present to you, a scene from the adventures of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, performed by the boys of cabin G.” He gives another curtsey, blows a kiss and gives a cheeky wink at Louis, then hurries off stage—but not before he sees Zayn’s eyes widen.

It takes him a second to remind the boys what to do, but with some frantic gesturing, and some pushing of the boys on his stage, he gets them set up. On one side, Malik, James and Robbie pace around Harry in their knights’ helmets, waving swords; on the other, the rest of the boys come out.

Aaron comes on stage first, all in green, with a bent stick that they’re using as a bow. He’s followed by Kevin and Ryan, dressed similarly. “Why do we have to go to the tournament?” Kevin asks, stealing a glance at the crowd.

Aaron gives a dramatic sigh. “’cause my girlfriend—Marian,” he specifies, at Harry’s mouthed prompt, “is there, ‘cause the evil guy has her prisoner. But if I win the contest and get the golden arrow, she’ll know it’s me and come with me!”

Harry grins, and waves to the crowd, gives a little curtsey, as Malik shakes his sword at the mention of the evil guy. Zayn’s still looking at Harry, his eyes narrowed. Harry wishes he knew what he was thinking, if he understood what Harry was doing—but he’s also a little distracted making sure no one pokes an eye out with any of the fake weapons and they all remember their lines.

Aaron and his merry men make their way over to the castle side, where Monique, giggling, runs out to set up a few circles as targets.

“I’m Guy of Gis—Gisbourne,” Malik announces proudly, even if he still stumbles over the name a little. “Now I’m gonna go beat everyone. You gots to stay here, Marian, and watch me win, ‘cause then you’ll be in love with me.” He doesn’t quite manage to keep the disgust off his face when he says love, but it builds the character, Harry thinks.

“Never!” Harry declaims, putting a hand to his heart. He can’t quite not look for Zayn. “There’s only one man I love, and his name is Robin Hood!”

“Robin Hood’s an outlaw, though,” James says quietly. Harry nods encouragingly, gesturing upwards so he’ll be louder. “And we’re gonna get him and arrest him.”

“You can try!” Harry says, and crosses his arms as dramatically as he can, with his most girlish sigh.

“We’re here for the tournament!” The Merry Men announce, crossing the stage, Aaron shakes his bow menacingly.

“Let’s fight then!” Malik yells. The tournament’s a little weak, given that the only way to shoot arrows is for the bows to run them to the targets, but Harry thinks it works. Malik does his with quite a lot of flair, and James quieter, then Robbie gives his a ‘zooooom’ sound effect Harry’s not sure is entirely authentic. But Harry makes sure to gasp loudly when Aaron hits center (a little off center, actually, because Aaron’s spatial judgment wasn’t precise).

“It’s Robin Hood!” Harry says, turning to the audience. “He’s the only one who could do that!”

“No! I have to win!” Malik yells, and waves his sword. “If you won, you got to be Robin Hood. I’ll catch you!” He runs at Aaron with his sword, and Aaron runs back. Harry was worried about the fight scene, because he knows how easy it is to get carried away when handed swords, but Aaron even remembers to grab Harry’s hand and pull him up, while Malik, Robbie, and Ryan get into a dramatic battle and James pokes at Kevin with his sword.

“I rescued you!” Aaron says, though he looks a little mournfully at the battle still going on.

“My hero!” Harry pretends to swoon. “I knew you were the only one who could win the arrow and earn my love!”

“Now we can run away with my Merry Men,” Aaron agrees, tugging Harry across the stage, the other Merry Men scrambling after them, brandishing their swords. James has clearly really gotten into it, given that he’s dying a dramatic, giggling death after being stabbed by Kevin.

Malik shakes his sword at them as they leave the stage, to great applause. The boys all come back on stage to bow, grinning proudly, and Harry sweeps into a curtsey, tossing out kisses to the crowd. He can’t help his wide grin. He’d forgotten how much fun that could be.

Still, he looks at Zayn. For once, Zayn doesn’t look away, and Harry thinks there’s a smile on his face. Harry grins back, and it feels like that first day of camp again, like coming home.

\---

It takes a while to get the boys out of their costumes, especially because they’re all hyper with adrenaline, Ryan jumping up and down and asking Harry if he saw how they’d clapped, James grinning with relief, and Malik and Aaron would much rather get into a swordfight then let Harry take the swords back. But by the time the next act—some of the older boys doing a dramatic lip synching of the Pokémon theme song—is done and the intermission/bathroom break is starting , Harry finally settles them all on the grass, next to Mel and her girls, who had done an adorable rendition of Let it Go from Frozen earlier.

The boys throw themselves onto the grass, chattering about their performance, but from across the grass Zayn’s still looking at Harry, and this was only stage one of the grand gesture. He’s gotten Zayn’s attention. Now he needs to make him listen. So Harry doesn’t sit down.

“Can you watch them?”

Mel nods. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” she teases, and Harry sticks out his tongue before making his way over to Zayn.

Zayn doesn’t get up, even though the kids around him move away a little bit, just tilts his head back to look at Harry. His lips are full and pink as they set into a hard line, but the look he gives Harry from under his eyelashes is unsure more than angry.

For a second, Harry’s heart stutters, remember the feel of those lips. “Can—”

“Down in front!” Louis calls.

“There’s no show on!” Harry retorts, resisting the urge to flip him off because there are children around.

He’s still running high off of the applause, off of the adrenaline of being on stage and hamming it up and getting laughs and not caring, and Zayn’s gaze is heavy on him and Harry says, surely as he knows how, “We have to talk.”

“Not here,” Zayn mutters. Some of the kids may have scattered, but most of them are still running around here, so he might have a point.

But Harry shakes his head. He’s had enough of that, of Zayn putting him off. Zayn needs to hear this.

“Then come on.” He reaches down to grab Zayn’s arm, tugging at him.

Zayn, of course, resists, because he can’t do anything easily. “Not here,” he repeats, firmly.

Harry can be stubborn too, though, and he’s been waiting. He knows he’s right here. “You’re going to listen to me,” he says, not keeping his voice very far down. People are looking, but it’s not like him and Zayn have been a secret, especially not their break up. And it doesn’t matter, because he can see he’s getting to Zayn. “Because I have to say this before we leave, and—”

“Fine!” Zayn snaps, and Harry doesn’t bother not grinning when Zayn gets to his feet and stalks off towards the cabins. Harry smirks as he follows, ignoring Louis’s wolf whistle.

Zayn keeps going through the cabins, waving cheerfully at one of his boys who had run back to use the bathroom, until they come out on the woods on the other side, probably properly hidden from view. Far enough away that if Zayn yells, no one will hear them, Harry can’t help but think. Or if he kills Harry. Which isn’t not a possibility.

“You’re such a brat,” Zayn announces, leaning back against a tree with his arms crossed.

“Yep!” Harry agrees, shamelessly. He is. He’s a brat and he likes attention and he wants people to like him and they do. He just had to remember that. “And you like it.”

Zayn’s eyebrows go up. “I do?”

“Yeah.” Harry takes a deep breath. As much as he just wants to kiss Zayn, to push him against the tree and kiss him until he can’t remember he’s angry anymore, Harry has to say this. “I—”

“What was up with the Robin Hood thing?” Zayn demands, before Harry can start. “That—was that just, like, you thinking of a good scene, or was it supposed to impress me, or, I dunno…”

“It was…” Harry runs a hand through his hair. This is more nerve wracking then going on stage, with Zayn watching him intently with the sun filtering through the leaves onto his skin. “It was supposed to show you you are special. That I know you, and we’ve got history, and I dunno, that you aren’t just anyone. You’re, I dunno. My Marian, you know? Or I’m yours, I don’t care. Just, it’s only you, and I’d totally go through an archery tournament for you. I didn’t…I didn’t not tell you because I was just with you so I’d have someone next year,” Harry hurries on, in case Zayn wants to say something. It doesn’t look like he does, from how he’s just watching him, chewing on his bottom lip, but he might. “I can see why you’d think that, but I’m not—I knew you’d be friends with me no matter what, and that doesn’t matter, ‘cause I can make friends either way. I know that.”

Zayn’s eyes are dark and for once, Harry’s not sure what’s in them. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because.” Harry can say it. He can. Zayn’s looking at him, and it’s important, even if it was stupid. “At first it was because I liked how you thought everyone always loved me, and that I was amazing and could do anything, and I didn’t want you not to think that anymore? Then it was, I don’t know. I mess things up in the real world, but I can do them here. And I didn’t want to mess things up, especially us. And that got even more so when we started doing…”

“Each other?” Zayn suggests, his lips twitching. The knot in Harry’s chest loosens at the bend of his lips.

“Yeah.” Harry grins too, lets his dimples show a little. “And maybe I should have said it earlier, and not then, but—I want you for you, ‘cause you’re one of my best friends and you look at me like I’m amazing and you only laugh at me when I deserve it and also because you’re really hot—” Zayn snorts, and Harry smirks. He feels light, like everything’s taken off of him, like he’s drunk off of champagne, like he’s floating. “And that’s why. Just that.”

“I…” Zayn rubs at his ear, for a second. “It’s just, like. I’ve wanted you for so long, you know? And I never thought it could happen. So when it did, I mean, I went along with it, but…” Zayn shakes his head. “It made more sense that you did it for another reason than because you’ve liked me.”

“That’s stupid.” It’s very Zayn, but it’s stupid. “And I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“I know, but…I watched you, with all the girls, you know?” Zayn’s looking at the ground, at his feet, and it’s like it’s five years ago, the confidence he’s learned hidden under all the differences he’s always had. “I couldn’t help myself. And, like. It was different. There had to be a reason.”

“Yeah. Because I like you more than I liked any of them.” Harry takes another step forward, because that is stupid. “Because you matter more. I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself for any of them.”

“Sure you would have.”

“Not for them,” Harry retorts. “I would have made a fool of myself, but for me. That was for you. And,” he goes on, sidling forward, leading with his hips. “You’re going to forgive me.”

Zayn gives Harry a glance from under his eyelashes. “I am?”

“Yeah.” Harry shakes out his hair before tucking his fingers into Zayn’s belt loops, pulling them closer. “You are. ‘Cause I am so ridiculously into you, and you don’t have a reason to be mad anymore.”

“No?”

“No,” Harry confirms. Their lips are a mere breath apart, and Zayn’s not moving away. If anything, he’s shaking, vibrating under Harry’s hands, like he’s wanted this as much as Harry has. “You’re going to kiss me instead, please.”

Zayn laughs, rich and awed and amused, and the sound’s still echoing in Harry’s ears when Zayn’s lips are on his, kissing him hot and fierce, like Harry’s kissing him back, like they don’t have a week to catch up on, like Harry can say ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I didn’t mean it’ and ‘we’re gonna be so good together’ and ‘I want this to last forever’ with just his lips and his hands. He doesn’t know if it works, but Zayn seems to understand him, because he leaves his lips to kiss at Harry’s jaw, his neck, everywhere he can reach, murmuring words Harry can’t quite concentrate enough to hear but feel like ‘I want you forever’ against Harry’s skin.

\---

They see the kids off with great fanfare, a lot of hugs and some tears. Malik gives Harry a quick hug, then attaches himself to Zayn’s side, refusing to leave him until he has to get on the bus, and even then waiting until Zayn crouches down to his level and tells him something. Harry doesn’t blame him. He’s found it hard not to stayed glued to Zayn’s side for the last day, to keep touching him, and Zayn’s seemed to have agreed, given that at breakfast he’d kept his chair jammed next to Harry’s and his arm around Harry so his hand rested on his waist.

But Harry has other things to pay attention to. He has Aaron demanding he email his mum pictures of him with his sword, and James hugging him with some almost contagious tears in his eyes, and some other kids running around saying goodbye to him, and the general chaos of getting suitcases sorted and people remembering at the last second they left something under the bed and others getting on the wrong bus.

He’s utterly exhausted by the time the buses are loaded, and he’s waving goodbye with the other counselors as they drive away. Somehow, Zayn’s next to him, and their hands are intertwined. Harry spares a second to grin down at them, before he meets Zayn’s eyes, gives them a squeeze. He remembers being on those buses, him and Liam taking advantage of the last bit of time they’d have together before they were relegated to months of distance, both looking forward to seeing his mum again and already missing the boys and the summer he’d left behind.

It feels the same, now, as they clean up the camp, put everything into sheds. Grabbing their last moments. The last last, in a way Harry doesn’t want to think about. Harry and Monique get the docks, putting away canoes, life preservers, cushions and chairs; Louis and Liam deals with the fields, Zayn’s off in the woods making sure no markers are left, as Niall scrubs the kitchens. It feels deserted, empty, sad; sometimes, Harry wishes he could leave with the campers, so he wouldn’t have to see the camp without them.

He’s finishing packing up his bags in his cabin, slowly covering up Robin Hood with clothes and sheets and other books, when his bed creaks from the Louis who’s suddenly on it.

“You ready?” he asks, stretching. “We’re meeting the boys in a few minutes.”

“Yeah.” Harry glances around. He’s not packed, but he can do the rest in the morning.

Louis gets back up, but he hesitates at the door, looking back for just a second, one of those brief seconds where Louis gets sentimental. “You’re good, though? With Zayn, and college, and shit?”

Harry has to smile at that, at the concern on Louis’s face, at this boy who he knows he can always depend on. “Yeah, it’s good. Let’s go.”

The other boys are waiting for them at the dock, like they have been every last night at camp since they were ten and finally figured out how to sneak out—or, in retrospect, when their counselors let them sneak out. It’s not the same, of course; for one, now they’re passing around Zayn’s flask as they sit in their circle. For another, Harry hadn’t known he’d want to be where he is, tangled up in Zayn even as his feet rest on Niall’s lap, talking about nothing at all.

“So,” Niall says at last. “Good summer.”

“Yeah.” Louis takes a swig, hands it past Liam to Zayn. “Ready to go back, though. I want to see El.”

“You want to get laid,” Zayn corrects, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Louis smirks, doesn’t disagree. “You gonna keep up with Soph, Li?”

Harry doesn’t need light to know Liam goes a little red. “Yeah. We aren’t too far, you know? We’ll see how it goes.”

Harry reaches around Zayn to poke at Liam’s shoulder. “It’ll be good, Liam.” Liam smiles thankfully. But it will be good, between him and Sophia. Harry’s sure of it, he’s decided. If anyone can make long distance work, it’s the two of them.

“To us, then!” Niall raises the flask, so it catches in the moonlight.

“To us,” Harry echoes, cuddling closer to Zayn. This is ending. He knows it is, that the summer has to end. But he’ll still have this. Have Zayn, and his boys, even if it won’t be camp again. But it’ll be as good in the real world. Different, but as good.

Niall drinks in silence, then hands it around. Even Liam takes a sip, his nose wrinkling at the taste, which Louis has to mock him for.

It’s under the cover of that that Zayn turns to Harry. “You know, like, the Robin Hood metaphor didn’t work very well.” He’s got a smile in his eyes and his lips, so Harry’s not really worried, even as he scoffs in offense. “Because I’m Will Scarlet, yeah? We’ve always said Louis’s Robin Hood, for us, so I think you might have accidentally declared your undying love of Louis.”

Harry sticks out his lower lip. “Shut up, it was romantic.”

“Just saying, for an English major, you need to watch your metaphors,” Zayn retorts, and Harry can’t let him get away with that. He slaps a hand over his mouth, and Zayn twists away, and somehow it ends up with Zayn on his back and Harry on all fours over him, dimpling down at Zayn’s bright grin.

“You’re the worst,” he informs Zayn, who smirks, and Harry has to kiss him then. He tastes like vodka and summer and Zayn, and Harry could get lost in this, in Zayn’s lips on his and his hand on Harry’s neck, keeping him close.

“Foul! No PDA!” Liam yelps, and then Niall’s voice comes,

“I won’t miss seeing them do that,” and something hits the back of his head that he thinks is a sweatshirt Louis’s thrown at them, and they’re both laughing too hard to keep kissing. Instead, Harry lets himself fall down onto Zayn, as Zayn’s hands run up and down his spine.

“If you two don’t stop, I’m drinking your share of the booze,” Louis threatens, and Harry knows Zayn’s hand’s left his back to flip Louis off. Harry just tucks his smile into Zayn’s neck, closing his eyes so he can remember this feeling. Of the hot summer air, of his boys’ laughter and Zayn’s warmth pressed against him. This, he thinks. This is what matters.

\---

The air’s still warm, as Harry walks down the hall, but it’s warm with an Indian summer sort of nostalgia, not as heavy as it was over the lake, even if it’s still humid in the unair-conditioned dorms. Harry brushes back his hair, a little nervously. He hopes he isn’t sweating grossly. That’d be a great first impression.

Not that it matters, he reminds himself. It’s already better than last year. His roommate, a guy named Jeff from LA, seems really chill and totally down with all Harry’s decorating choices; the stir of the city is exciting and energizing. The air itself is different, better. Everything’s better. And Louis’d texted him good luck this morning, and Liam and Niall both liked an instagram photo of his new dorm, and he’ll always have them.

Harry takes a second, after getting to the door, to check if his bandana’s still properly in place, tug on his shirt. It’s been a full month since Zayn saw him not over Skype, after all. He nods to the girl who passes him on her way to the elevators, and she nods back, returning his smile with a quick flick of her eyes that makes Harry preen. He’s good.

There’s a quick scuffle of sound from behind the door after Harry knocks, what sounds like some hissing, then the door opens, and Zayn’s there, grinning at Harry. It should be weird, seeing him in this other context, not at camp, but it just feels right, feels good. Zayn’s smiling at him in jeans and what Harry think is a nice t-shirt, his big smile with his eyes crinkling and his tongue tucked behind his teeth, and Harry’s heart thumps in his chest, his fingers twitching with the need to touch. His hair’s down, the blonde mixed into the fringe over his forehead, and he looks like a proper hipster, not what he was at camp, but he’s still Zayn.

For a second, they just stare at each other. Then, “Hey, babe,” Zayn grins, and grabs Harry, pulls him into a hug.

“Hey.” Harry squeezes tight, breathing in the scent of him. You can’t get that over Skype.

“Sorry I couldn’t meet you, I had a meeting,” Zayn murmurs, his breath whispering over Harry’s ear. Harry doesn’t respond, just lifts his head so he can kiss Zayn properly, warm and close, like he hasn’t gotten to in far too long.

“Ahem.” The part of Harry that isn’t wrapped up in Zayn vaguely registers someone clearing their throat. “Gonna introduce us, Zayn?”

“No, he’s too busy sucking face,” comes another voice, and then a third,

“Lay off, guys. I think that’s his boyfriend.”

“I hope that’s his boyfriend,” the second voice retorts.

Zayn, unfortunately, stops kissing Harry to rest their foreheads together. “Sorry for the peanut gallery.”

“Are you going to introduce us?” Harry asks. He doesn’t—it’s not a test, he knows what they are, but still…

“Yeah.” Zayn’s hand rests easily on his hip, rubbing circles on his skin. “Unless you don’t want to yet, we can go get lunch, take a tour or something.”

“Don’t worry.” Harry presses a quick kiss to his lips. “They’ll love me.”

“Everyone always does,” Zayn agrees, and his fond smile lights something in Harry’s heart, something burning and easy, all at once.

“And you most of all,” Harry states, confidently.

“Yeah,” Zayn admits, still smiling at Harry. “Well, then.” He steps back, opens the door. “Come on in.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Hated it? Want to discuss? Comment or come chat on [ tumblr!](http://ridiculouslittleidiots.tumblr.com/)


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